Indian Interlude
by Obsessed Pam
Summary: An AU Jack finds himself taken captive by native Indians on a planet a long way from home. As his team frantically searches for him ,Jack learns more about those who have captured him. Major Jack whump!
1. Chapter 1

Indian Interlude Part 1

6

**Indian Interlude**

**Part 1**

N.B. -Jack's thoughts in apostrophes

_(Third month in captivity)_

_Even as the icy spasms trembled through his pain-wracked body, the burning heat radiated outward, the sweat pouring down the length of him in streaming rivulets which soaked the soft baby hide in which he was enveloped. A crude dressing covered his right shoulder and when the hide was pulled away for the women to cool his over-dry, heated skin, the larger dressing on his left thigh was revealed, the swelling beneath it all too obvious. Though he was unconscious there was no peace in his condition as he tossed his head from side to side, mumbling incoherent words, swatting at the hands that sought to ease his pain by coaxing him to take a liquid that was constantly dribbled through his chapped, stubborn lips. _

_A younger woman stooped low as she came through the tent's entrance, cautiously holding in her hands a flat stone upon which a concoction that looked like mud and made the others eyes water from its pungent smell bubbled. Instantly this woman knelt at his side and the other two moved to remove the dressing on his thigh, restraining him as he fought their ministration._

_The laceration, deep and jagged, was raw and ugly and oozed a putrid pus so when the heated sludge was placed gently on the wound the man reared up, yelling his protest in the only way permissible until the dark chasm of unconsciousness won the battle, allowing the three women to continue offering comfort through the long hours and days that the infection raged._

--

(Three months earlier)

His first return to consciousness was so agonizing that he didn't at first have time to wonder about the strange position he was in. No doubt he had been slung over Teal'c's powerful shoulder like a sack of disgraced potatoes and was being carried to bed. His main bewildered thought once he'd got a hold on the pain was that he was experiencing the worst hangover of his entire life, but before he could worry over the fact that he had absolutely no recollection of what must have been a titanic drinking episode, he passed out.

Some time had passed. The motion hadn't stopped, but although it was offensive, the Sahara desert in his mouth was far more desperate and combined with the roiling in his stomach, which was making a hasty movement up his throat, Jack knew he was going to throw up any time soon.

'Oh shit!'

He knew he had to move if only for the sake of saving himself the ignominy of puking all over Teal'c's back, something he knew without doubt he would be made to answer for at a later date. Teal'c had a good long memory.

"Teal'c, put me the hell down."

His words were a mere groan producing no effect. He moaned again feeling as if shards of glass were piercing his brain, but when he tried to raise a hand to his pounding temple he found it to be impossible.

'What the hell!'

The effort to open his eyes could not justify the result, particularly when Jack's eyes were fixed on smooth short hair - some black, some white. It took a while for his blurred vision to focus, but when it did he stifled the groan that his body automatically produced as his confused mind sorted out the muddle of his position, to inform him he'd been flung over the bare back of a piebald pony which was being led by a - he jerked, instantly regretting the move, yet still he was unable to accept the astonishment...

'F-ck!'

To all intents and purposes they looked like Native American Indians - bare legs and loin cloths, skinned leggings and various ornamental feathers in long, black hair. How the hell had this happened?

'Come on flyboy, get your act together,' he ordered his frazzled brain.

As he strove to bring some semblance of order to his reeling wits he determined that his last clear memory was leaving Sam, Daniel and Teal'c at their campsite on PX530 and going to the stream nearby to collect water. He had zero recollection of any sort of attack after that, which was utterly bewildering.

As he frowned in frustration his nausea reached crisis level and Jack's thoughts moved to self-preservation.

'If this is a dream, please let me wake up now and if not, let the damned cavalry come!'

As he felt the vomit erupting, he painfully raised his aching head resting against the side of the pony's flank, revolted by the hot, thick liquid spewing from his body. He tried hard to jerk his hands away, but not only did the foul smelling stuff land in a solid grey trail on the ground, it partially covered the animal and his tethered hands.

He moaned in disgust thankful he didn't continue to dry heave. Yet as his discomfort made itself known in different parts of his body, he tried easing his body back, kicking with his tethered legs to gain backward momentum.

"Argh!" A sharp verbal command and an even sharper blow to his shoulder blade stilled his movements and he lay as motionless as was possible hogtied over the back of a pony. The language, though unknown, conveyed its meaning loud and clear, but just to emphasize the point, the bruising blow had accompanied it to make doubly sure.

'Not such a good idea, Jack.'

He turned his head as far as it would go to one side, squinting against the sunlight that stabbed his aching eyes, the better to see his captors and more importantly if the others under his command had also been captured. There were two young warriors sitting their ponies side by side in a pose he knew so well, relaxed yet ever vigilant, eyes scanning their surroundings, never pausing unless to check something out. At least from his limited view he could see no other prisoners, which was a relief unless... No, he wouldn't go there, better to be positive. He'd try the Daniel Jackson approach - there was nothing to lose.

"Hey guys? I'm a peaceful traveller who's argh--!"

His words were choked off mid-sentence as his pony launched itself into a painful trot and Jack could do nothing with his limited energy to prevent his body making painful contact with his mount's hard back as his stomach and chest were battered by the motion.

When the horses moved into canter there was a measure of relief, but he didn't have a chance to think about it too much as he desperately fought to stay on top. Lashed as he was to the horse, there were still positions which were far more excruciating than others and he worked on reducing the amount of his suffering as much as he could.

,

Over the following hours, lack of water, coupled with the pain in his head, encouraged moments of hallucination when he was back at the SGC working out with Teal'c and taking a heavy hammering. When he hit the floor he felt the blast of pain from Teal'c's padded boxing glove make impact with the side of his head, the hurt radiating out, ripples in a stormy lake, and he groaned at the injury knowing it meant a trip to the infirmary. He lay still trying to overcome the pain, to channel it into a compartment he could shut the door on and control. Janet would have his butt in a sling for this stupidity.

'Time to get up, Jack,' he advised himself wearily, but his body refused to co-operate, until, that is, Teal'c's foot made heavy contact with his bruised and sensitive rib cage. He yelled a curse, wondering what the hell had gotten into the Jaffa and promising him he would suffer payback big time until his blurred eyes realized that the foot in question was covered in moccasin footwear.

He bit back another painful groan, swallowing down more burning bile which threatened to make another spectacular eruption and made it to his knees. Raising his throbbing head, he found himself the object of intense scrutiny by half a dozen native Indians.

Half raising his tied hands, trembling with the cold and shock, he called out with more bravado than he felt, "Hi guys."

There was no reciprocal greeting.

Scanning the area, he realized any opportunity for escape was slim. From the little he could see in the gloom, they had just entered the mouth of a cave and the temperature indicated they must be at a high altitude. Not that the Indians showed it. With his trousers, jacket and T-shirt he was still shivering whereas his captors looked as if they were out for a gentle stroll on the beach.

One of them, the one who appeared to Jack to be the leader, uttered something guttural; the tone again sounded like a command, but having no clue, Jack shrugged his shoulders. More words and further shrugging ensued. The leader, whom Jack had designated Geronimo, had long hair like the rest of his party, but one side section was plaited with black and white feathers hanging from it at intervals. His face, paler than the original Native American Indians on earth, bore a bright yellow sun on one half and a white lightning flash the other. His eyes, darker than Jack's, stared at him without expression and Jack surmised him to be in his early thirties.

The colonel made a signal, touching his mouth to indicate his thirst; he was desperate and not averse to milking the situation if it was to his benefit.

'Damn - they must've been talking to the general or Janet,' he decided dejectedly when there was no reaction to his miming. Slowly, painfully he made it to his feet swaying dangerously, for a second finding his vision tunnelling just as he observed Geronimo approaching him with a wicked looking knife gripped in his right hand.

'Shit!'

Jack tried to evade the weapon, but so disoriented and dehydrated was he that all he ended up doing was falling on his butt ignominiously and waiting for the finishing stroke. It never came.

Instead he felt the ropes on his ankles give way and, eyes widening, he forced his vision to clear gazing up nonplussed by the action. A further low guttural growl conveyed its meaning clearly to Jack when it was accompanied by another glancing blow to his feet.

"Okay, okay. Keep your shirt on."

Just at that moment he heard Carter's concerned voice from the radio still attached to his collar calling his name, demanding he answer. He jerked to one side reaching for the button with clumsy hands, powerful relief that he had proof that at least one member of his team was still alive coursing through his body, but as his numb fingers struggled to reach his radio, a hand plucked the device from his uniform while another held him firmly as he struggled to regain his precious equipment. Dejectedly he watched as it was tossed to the floor, his 2IC's voice receding as he was pushed firmly forward.

Sandwiched between the warriors, Jack was forced to follow a circuitous route through low tunnels which appeared to cut through a mountain. When a number of routes were available there seemed no hesitation in the darkness, and horses and men walked on with the exception of Jack, who weaved and limped.

--

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Indian Interlude**

_May I draw attention to the industrious work my beta, **Nell**, has put into this story; she has tweaked and twisted and turned it this way and that in an effort to ensure it is well received. Her work is, as always, outstanding, but for this story she has really had to apply her skills to ensure it lives up to the standards she expects. Thanks a million, Nell; This story wouldn't be what it is without what you've put into it and I honestly couldn't have done this without you. _

**Part 2 **

N.B. -Native language shown in **/**

The passage of time within the burrowed out labyrinth of tunnels meant little to Jack; his only measurements were to place one weary foot in front of the other while containing his thirst and the ever present pain. As if the ache in his head wasn't bad enough, after what he surmised must have been hours of walking through dark, damp warrens, his right knee was beginning to protest - protest big time.

As he stumbled over yet another concealed rock, his fight with the sharp pull of gravity was lost and he went down with barely a muffled sound. For a brief exhausted moment as he weakly spat out the dust, he wondered if the horses and men would simply walk right over him, but a sharp jerk on his jacket collar pulled him up. On nothing but auto mode, Jack rubbed at the dirt in his eyes and would have made to walk on but for a firm hand which held him fast.

Bloodshot eyes looked up slowly and then widened as a skinned water container was pushed into his tied hands and, with energy he thought he'd spent, he drank frantically for all of five seconds until his training reasserted itself and sheer willpower allowed him to slow down and take small controlled sips. It had been a long time since water had tasted this sweet; he could feel his cells soaking up the precious liquid, expanding while his tongue bathed in the life-giving elixir. As he continued to drink he looked over the top of the water bottle, surprised that it was Geronimo himself who had offered the drink. Jack felt the man's dark, steady, assessing eyes on him and returned the look.

Eventually he had his fill and returned the water.

"Thanks." His eyes conveyed a much stronger message.

While still painful, the act of walking had become so much easier now that he'd managed to hydrate and he continued the trek in much better spirits - the thought of rescue and escape now becoming viable possibilities if not yet put into action.

In the darkness of the tunnels he was already making plans for any possible contingency that presented itself and was so engrossed in his strategies that he lurched into the uneven wall skinning his arm painfully, yet the discomfort was almost welcome as it forced Jack's mind back to reality.

'What the hell is happening to me?...Have I been drugged?'

Yes, maybe that was the answer to so many of the questions racing around his aching head. It would sort out why he simply had no recollection of how he'd got his sorry ass into such a predicament and why he was still so spaced out. He'd thought at first he had a concussion, but this was definitely different. Maybe when he'd been drugged, he'd fallen and given his head a crack hence the blood.

Thinking about it, he gingerly lifted his hands and felt around his head as much as he could, wincing as his fingers came in contact with an abrasion on his temple, but he couldn't feel anything that would point to the desperate way he was feeling right now.

His musings were put on hold as a faint white light before them grew larger and he knew they were about to leave the tunnels. It seemed hours since they'd entered the maze and as his black ops survival instincts kicked into gear, he began to search for an opportunity to escape.

Later, he was to wonder whether he was getting too predictable because no sooner had the thought entered his mind than his captors closed in on him and escape was quashed before it could take fruit. But at least he was allowed to sit astride the pony though his feet were again tied by rope and he realized if he were to lose his balance and fall, he'd still be attached to his mount and simply be dragged along to certain death.

--

More hours passed as his pony followed the narrow trail which descended the mountain to the grass covered valley below and hunger and exhaustion made their demands so that Jack became closely acquainted with the neck of his horse which he had slumped over in a restless sleep. This was, however, harshly interrupted when he again made bruising contact with firm ground, waking to find his bindings cut and surrounded by not only the warriors who had captured him, but now dark-haired women, young and old, and children.

The younger boys, miniature replicas of the men, who couldn't, he guessed, have been more than eight or nine, were racing forward, touching him with a stick and then retreating while howling in triumph. But eventually the crowd dispersed losing interest in the stranger, allowing Jack to take a long, hard look at his surroundings.

From the little he could see, they had entered a large encampment with numerous tepees made up of animal hides which could have been made of bison. The smell of open fires and food cooking in black earthenware pots assailed his senses and his stomach grumbled in protest. Skins of large animals were spread out on large wooden frames, drying in the open air alongside what appeared to be the intestines of whatever animal had been slaughtered.

These people were definitely akin to the Native American Indians of Earth in both bearing and the clothes they wore. He ascertained that the camp was set next to a wide, tumbling river they must have crossed while Jack was still out of it and which twisted through the land reaching to the mountains at the camp's rear and circumventing a thickly wooded expanse of trees. Jack knew those were the same mountains he'd travelled through, their ridges stabbing into the pale morning sky and as he stared back at them he promised himself it wouldn't be long before he made the return journey.

The land in the opposite direction was mile upon mile of grassland which went on for as far as the eye could see. Maybe that was all there was of this planet, he mused, nothing but--.

The sharp sting of a switch between his shoulder blades together with a voice screeching in his ear urged Jack to scramble to his feet, fists clenched ready to defend or attack if the possibility presented itself. His forward momentum froze however as he stared down in stunned disbelief at the tiny bowed figure wielding the raised weapon; the murderous anger in his eyes instantly changing to irritation at the diminutive woman in a long dress made of doeskin, whose bright black eyes surrounded by a deeply lined face conveyed not fear at Jack's aggressive stance, but rather disgust.

The old woman, long grey hair tied into plaits muttered under her breath and Jack would have bet a month's pay she wasn't paying him any compliments. The next moment she'd thrown a skinned pouch at his feet pointing at the water and then at the cooking pot on the ground giving him a series of sharp orders which, with the help of her body language, helped him to understand clearly her demands.

"So I'm the new water boy, huh?"

And in a flash of time, his memory raced back to when he was a sassy nine year old and his grandmother had thrust a water bucket into his hands and ordered him to fill it from the nearby lake when the weather had been so cold all the pipes supplying their cabin had frozen. He seemed also to recall a certain hesitation which had involved the threat of a slipper to warm his behind. Switch or slipper - little difference; he appreciated neither.

He followed in her wake, aware of her firm gait and no nonsense attitude belying the number of years she carried. As he bent to his task his eyes scanned his surroundings, searching for weaknesses in those around him.

Lookouts on horseback were on both sides of the wide river though by their very relaxed state he knew they were expecting little if no threat to their existence. Women glanced up from what Jack presumed was their cooking but other than a perfunctory glance they paid him no attention. It was only when the woman had spoken sternly that the children had faded away though a couple of boys still watched him from a distance.

At the water's edge Jack watched the old woman chatter to two others, one of them much younger and taller with fine cheek bones and who in different circumstances he might have admitted was interesting to look at, though when her eyes fell on him they revealed nothing, as if he weren't there.

'Well that's just fine by me lady, 'cos I'm going to be out of here in no time.'

They were washing some animal skins on the flat rocks which followed the course of the wide river and, aware he was probably the focus of their intense conversation; he didn't waste time at the chore.

**/**He is a strange one you have chosen with hair the color of the stone mountains.**/**

The old woman stared hard at the man collecting the water.

**/**He has the build of a warrior and the strength too I would bet. He will do.**/ **

Once the sizeable pouch was filled, he straightened, gritting his teeth as his exhausted body complained, and made the short walk back to where their tent and the cooking pot were, emptying the contents of his pouch into the blackened container.

Afterwards, the old woman watched over Jack as he collected wood for the fire and once she'd started a flame with the flints she carried, he was required to work on a stinking hide that had the appearance of buffalo, softening it in a slow and painful process which required him to scrape away at the foul smelling skin with a hand-sized stone.

He'd balked at doing what he was shown until Gran-from-hell, who he was to learn later was called Little Step, had grown agitated, snapping out words, that were all too obviously castigating him and his lineage for as far back as it went, and starting to dance around him, raising her hand and threatening him with the switch.

In the end he decided that drawing too much attention and annoying the old bat was not conducive to his escape plans and so he'd acquiesced, giving her a scowl which had made her blink and mutter under her breath.

--

The flat of a moccasin foot connecting with the back of his shoulder blades sent him hurtling face first into the inky black shallow river and he found himself swallowing more than was healthy before pushing himself up and lunging forward again.

If he'd seen the faces of his two pursuers, he would have realized it was a game - totally one-sided - with little malice from the young hunters, but Jack never did know when to give up, thereby providing even more sport for the two young whooping warriors on horseback. Even Jack knew there was next to no hope of evading capture but when had that ever stopped him? It was only when he dropped to his knees in utter exhaustion, sweat dripping down his hanging head as he dragged lungfuls of much needed oxygen into his wheezing chest that he gave up the fight and accepted that he had failed. Failed miserably. He had no illusions about what was now to follow.

It had been the dog that had given him away - the one he'd actually befriended as it approached, dragging its belly on the ground as he worked on the foul smelling buffalo hide. Even in such a hopeless situation he'd held out his hand allowing it to be licked, and the friendship had been bonded with a rapturous licking frenzy together with vigorous tail wagging and so the mangy yellow cur dog was his.

It was only when Jack had broken free of his bonds that first night and began to scurry away that his canine friend had begun to cry plaintively. And before Jack could silence the hound it had set the other camp dogs on alert, particularly when they picked up his strange scent. Soon the barking warned the guards and in no time Jack's escape was made known.

--

Now, as he dangled by his bleeding wrists from cross poles normally reserved for cured hides, he didn't have to look into the dark faces of the people gazing up at him to know that his punishment was going to be the star attraction of the occasion.

'Gotta tell you flyboy, this is getting a tad boring,' he chastised himself silently.

He'd been hoisted up the moment he'd been dragged back to camp after his failed escape attempt, his feet bare inches from the ground; it might as well have been a mile. As his shoulders and wrists took the strain of his weight, his body swung gently and the cold night air could not prevent the rivulets of sweat that poured down his face and neck.

Morning was a long time in coming and for many of those hours, minutes and seconds, his only companion had been the cur dog whining softly from time to time as it realized something was amiss, but slowly the people of the tribe, men, women and children, began to take their places in a semi-circle around him. All were silent.

Eventually, Geronimo stepped forward followed closely by the old woman. Jack, even in the agony of his hanging body, did not fail to see the lethal looking switch the man had pressed into her hands.

He groaned inwardly.

'Oh shit, not again.'

He tried not to think about how now would be a really good time for his team to appear like the proverbial cavalry to save the day, or in this case a sad-assed air force colonel.

Harsh guttural words were spoken by the man and the woman and the crowd nodded in unison.

**/**He has broken the code of the people and must be punished. Would you carry out this task or choose another to fulfil the atonement?**/**

She was angry as hell with him, there was no denying it either in her dark scowl or in her body language, but within her she knew that a true warrior would be obliged to attempt escape. It was fitting.

**/**He belongs to my lodge therefore I will carry out this task. It is only right.**/**

More words followed from Gran-from-hell until Jack wished they'd just get it over with. But when two braves suddenly darted forward and tore off his jacket and t-shirt, he knew exactly what was to come and stiffened in preparation just hoping that his kidneys wouldn't have to bear too much of the beating. He still had dark memories of a whipping he'd had years back which had resulted in him pissing blood. Not something he was looking to repeat.

The collective gasp of so many was not what he'd been expecting as his back was laid bare and Jack still continued to wait for the cutting bite of the weapon against his back. It never came.

**/**As foretold**, **he bears the marks...it may be that he is the one... Release him. Nothing will be gained in carrying out this punishment. Let us ensure that his action will not be repeated. Watch him. Watch him well. He is an accomplished warrior as the marks on his body attest. This may yet be a chance of fate, but whatever, we will be patient and await what will be.**/ **

To his complete astonishment, Jack found his rope was loosened and his feet felt solid ground. But shoulder muscles kept too long tied up high, screamed in protest and his face scrunched in pain as he rode out the agony of circulating blood, locking his knees and dropping his chin to his shoulders to conceal his distress.

He was aware of the dispersing of the crowd with no show of disappointment that he'd escaped being whipped to an inch of his life. However, as he massaged his protesting shoulder muscles an unexpected blow to the back of his knees felled him and he cursed loudly, but before he could react further, his boots and socks had been removed by two warriors leaving him shirtless and bare foot. Then Geronimo had issued a warning clear in its simplicity delivered with the blade of a knife at Jack's throat.

**/**Hear me and hear me well! Your body shows your valour and for such you will be spared, but do this again and there will be but one end!**/**

The prisoner knew without doubt what to expect should he attempt another escape.

Looking up, he met the steely gaze of the old woman, Little Step, who had been handed his footwear, and for a second saw something close to respect before she turned grunting an order and his heart knew what his position was - property, nothing more, nothing less, but he noted that her mumbled order seemed less severe than previously and as she turned away he knew he was expected to follow. This he did with the cur dog close on his heels.

--

(While back at the SGC)

Concluding her debrief, Sam finished by saying, "We searched every inch of the area but there was no sign of the Colonel. We haven't been able to ascertain whether he's been taken through the Stargate or is still on the planet, Sir."

Unable to look the general in the eye, Sam stared back at the closed iris as if willing it to reveal the missing member of SG-1.

Steeling herself to remain collected while she gave her report to General Hammond, Sam's whole body radiated deep unease. It was clear to her superior that she was struggling to retain her composure when her every natural instinct was to turn right around and return to the planet from where her CO had vanished. The same feelings were mirrored in the two remaining members of SG-1.

''General, you must know that every second we sit around doing nothing is precious time lost. We've got to go back. Now!''

Daniel was already standing, preparing to make the return trip to the planet.

Hammond's eyes softened sympathetically.

"I'm sending SG-2 and 5 to your last known co-ordinates..." and seeing the spark of rebellion in all three, he hardened his expression."Dr. Fraiser informs me you are all exhausted and require rest before I will consider your return to PX530."

The general could see the youngest member of the team about to interrupt with a strong protest and continued firmly,

"You will all go to your quarters and rest and come morning I will expect you all to be ready to return pending Dr. Fraiser's clearance. Is that clear SG-1?"

Discipline had been instilled in the captain and Jaffa warrior no matter how distasteful the order and the head of the SGC knew he need not worry about his orders being followed to the letter, but the young archaeologist had obviously been in the company of his 2IC long enough that certain insubordinate characteristics had rubbed off to the extent that he was plainly finding it difficult to rein in his natural instincts. The general, having been made aware of Dr. Jackson's impulsive nature, was not about to allow any form of disobedience. He had lost one member of his flagship team and he had no intention of it happening again.

"Dr. Jackson, if I so much as hear you've been looking at the Stargate, I will not hesitate to throw you in the brig for a period of time that will be distinctly unwelcome. I don't have time for any form of insubordination and I assure you that any non-compliance with my orders will be dealt with in the severest manner. Have I made myself understood?"

No matter his actual years, when the General took that tone with him Daniel found himself feeling as if he were a seven year old being given the dressing down of his life with the threat of a good spanking hanging over him like Damocles' sword. And it was only when he gave a resentful nod that General Hammond deigned to look away, thereby breaking the steely glare Daniel had been held in.

--

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_I have tried three times to change this chapter so it isn't centrally aligned and after making all the necessary changes and pressing the 'save changes' button all it does is return it to this! My apologies, but I simply don't know what to do with the wretched system. Hope it isn't too annoying to enjoy!_

**Indian Interlude**

**Part 3**

His only priority was to escape or, failing this, stay alive in the hope he would be rescued by his team - no, he chided himself as the colder days passed by.

'They'll come; they'll never leave me behind. Never.'

He spent endless hours as he ground corn - difficult and time-consuming work, as well as other mundane chores allotted to him - planning strategies to attain this objective, but always under the ever watchful eye of the old woman who had come to be his second shadow.

As overseers went, he couldn't complain; he'd had far worse. She'd at least thrown him a coarse top to cover his naked back when they'd returned to her home, but she hadn't taken it upon herself to provide him with any footwear.

Unfortunately, with his days spent doing all the donkey work and being watched by this eagle-eyed grandmother, he had no clear opportunity to accomplish his mission to escape.

Each night he was shackled to a pole outside the entrance to Little Step's lodge and even if he'd attempted to break free, there was the constant presence of Ratface, who followed his every barefoot move with a slavish devotion which Jack would have found moving had it not been that the hound's yapping was one of the main reasons Jack was prevented from escaping. And yet, even knowing this, the colonel knew with bitter irony that he could not bring himself to inflict any injury on the doe-eyed animal. He'd have to think of something, but not that.

Monotonous routine, by its very repetition, goaded him to plan an escape.

And so, as the days grew colder, Jack found his chores varied very little; fire duty, water duty, cooking, cleansing of hides and planning.

--

He only realized he'd been staring into the depths of the grey, rushing water when he heard the unrestrained laughter of some young boys who were attempting to fish a little distance away further up the river. Shaking himself out of his reverie, he finished filling the three skins and slowly straightened, groaning as the pain in his knee made itself known in no uncertain terms. He muttered a sharp curse under his breath, shaking his head deprecatingly, feeling the length of his grey hair grown too long slapping against his neck - he should have known better than to spend too much time squatting on his haunches. Busted knees didn't appreciate such moves and as a sharp pain stabbed him in his left leg he knew he should have remembered the painful lesson from earlier times. But he had been so lost in memories of his past that he had forgotten for a long moment what the present was all about. He groaned softly, his expression twisting into an ugly mask as the memories faded leaving him to face his painful present and future.

One long month, he estimated, had passed since his captivity, far too long a period if rescue had been on the books. Something disastrous must have happened that no one had shown up to come and get him. Otherwise, why hadn't his team come for him, why hadn't any other SG team arrived like the proverbial cavalry? Sam was alive, so what the hell could have prevented her from looking for him?

It just didn't make sense, but the sick, angry feeling in the pit of his stomach couldn't be denied. He had to face facts yet he wouldn't believe that half of his team might be dead. No, but he'd no longer look to that area for hope of rescue, everything rested with himself alone, just as it had once before in his painful past.

He studied the fast flowing river, much wider and deeper now that the weather had changed and heavy rains had swelled its boundaries. It would not be easy to cross with the swift currents which would catch the unwary should an attempt be made, but that was possibly nature being on his side as it made the horseback guards more likely to be relaxed knowing that any possible attack from unseen enemies would be all the more difficult.

He judged the possibility of an escape now, this very second, and knew it would be doomed to failure. Night time was his greatest hope; he had been working on his shackles for hours each night, a discarded blade discreetly hidden beneath the soil where he slept at the entrance to the old woman's tepee. One link had been slowly but industriously weakened and he'd already kept some bindings used round his own frayed pants to tie round the muzzle of Ratface when the time finally came to flee. He promised himself he wasn't going to fail when the next opportunity for escape arose.

The disgruntled yell of one of the boys had his head turning in time to see two of the fishing lines entangled and with the impatience of the young, one eight year old had tugged hard in the hope that this would release his hook, but all it did was overbalance his younger partner's hold on his own rod. At any other time this would not have resulted in anything untoward, but on this occasion the rocks were slippery from an earlier rainfall and in the blink of an eye the boy had lost his equilibrium and was falling, arms flailing wildly as he tumbled backwards into the fast flowing waters.

The cries of his friends alerted the riders, but Jack knew with a desperation born of experience that they were too far away to assist.

Already the current was carrying the crying boy over the rapids; he'd only to reach the spot near where Jack stood and then he would be carried round the bend and be lost for sure in the swirling waters.

As a pale, terrified face impacted Jack's senses he found himself diving, body automatically stretching as far as it could before he hit the icy water. For a moment there was frozen shock and then his arms were powering him forward as his legs kicked furiously towards his goal. For desperate seconds the petrified face disappeared, but Jack knew the ways of rushing waters and he kicked harder, passing the spot where the boy had gone under, and then up, arms flailing wildly, mouth wide, gasping for breath in tortured lungs and as the young body was about to vanish for a second time Jack surged forward, fighting the growing powers of the freezing water as his hands felt and held on to a slack limb.

He pulled, holding the body against him, keeping the chin up, mouth and nose above the waterline, feeling his heart thumping so hard that it must surely burst. For a moment the pull of the current seemed to embrace and take them, but shaking his head to clear it of the fog that tried to encroach, Jack kicked out again, muscles screaming at the abuse, tired legs sluggish as he fought his way determinedly back to the land.

He longed to just lie there and let someone else deal with the unconscious boy, but then what would have been the point? He hauled the small body over his knee and worked the boy's back encouraging any water to flow out then turning him over he quickly felt for a pulse then raised the head and chin and began to breathe air into the still body. It was just a moment that felt like a lifetime, but then the boy was choking up water, coughing, arms flailing as he began to breathe in lifesaving oxygen.

"Easy there... easy does it," he gasped, dragging air into his lungs, "Just lie still and let it in. Just nice and slow."

Although the words meant nothing to the boy, the tone was calming and he stilled, black eyes staring up into brown ones as his coughing eased. Slowly, Jack raised him up still aware that the boy could still choke if there was any liquid remaining in his lungs.

"You okay?"

The boy continued to stare, wiping a hand over his face, fear still evident.

"Think you can stand?"

Slowly, carefully, Jack held out a hand wondering if the boy would take it until cautiously, diffidently a small brown hand was extended and the two intertwined. A gentle tug and both were on their feet.

Looking around, Jack became aware of galloping ponies bearing down on them while in the further distance others were running on foot; all were on the other side of the river. Unbeknownst, the two of them had crossed the watery expanse and now Jack realized his opportunity for escape was possible if only... He stared down into the face of the boy and saw a residual fear but also a trust, a trust to keep the boy safe. He looked to the mountains and escape and turned, taking a few paces; then he looked back at the boy intently. What if he started to choke from water still remaining in his lungs? It wasn't unknown for someone to die from drowning twenty-four hours after being rescued and appearing fine. Jack looked again at the mountains, the longing so great he could almost taste it. But then he shook his head.

There had never been any kind of doubt. Not really.

No fuss had been made; there was no beating of drums and the hailing of a newfound hero. Jack and the boy had been taken up beside one each of the riders while they crossed back over the river, but whereas the boy had continued on back to the camp, Jack had been expected to walk and once there continued with his chores still wearing what remained of his dripping clothes until Little Step had grabbed his arm and pulled him up indicating he would accompany her, chattering all the while.

The lodge they stopped before was grander and far more impressive with its painted hide coverings depicting battles and hunting scenes. Jack's eyes skimmed over the pictures until the flap of the entrance was thrown open and an impressively old man, who must have been well into his eighties stooped low and came out of the lodge with the young boy Jack had saved, following. The old man, his skin scored by myriad lines of age stared long and hard before nodding once then passing by. Nothing had changed and Jack cursed himself for missing his chance at gaining freedom.

Presently, when the sun had dropped and the cold wind began to whistle between the large tents, Jack readied himself for settling down at the entrance to the old woman's lodge awaiting the moment when she would appear from inside and attach the large chain to him. It was later than usual and he wondered whether she would have some other chore for him to do. He glared at the dog who watched him with devoted eyes, still not having forgiven the hound completely for sabotaging his escape.

'If it's another of those god awful hides she can--.'

When it came, the grumbled order was accompanied by the opening of the entrance flaps of the tepee and yet again, Jack was left wondering what the hell she wanted doing this time. His linguistic skills could by no means be considered on a par with Daniel's; he'd learned the words for 'water', 'food', 'clean', 'do it again', 'hurry the hell up' 'forbidden', and 'stop being a lazy, skiving pain-in-the-ass-or-else' or meanings to that effect, but that was about as far as his linguistic talents went, so when the old woman started rattling unfamiliar words at him, clearly expecting him to do something, Jack's frown returned full fold and he stared down at his own personal pain in the mikta with undisguised blankness as she held out a thick bearskin that had only that afternoon been presented to her by the mother of the boy Jack had saved.

Gazing at it longingly, Jack couldn't help thinking that now the autumn nights were ending he would find it more than useful in keeping away the bitter, winter cold. This was when the old woman, getting tired of waiting for Jack to make up his mind, thrust it into his hands with a snort of irritation, snagged his arm and tugged him into the tent, pointing to a spot furthest away from the exit.

Still hesitant to accept what he had understood, he looked into the old woman's eyes, somehow finding the idea of being allowed into her tent about as customary as being invited into the White House and just as off-putting. But as the woman replaced the flaps closing up the entrance, she again pointed to where Jack should place his fur, and going to her own pallet blocking the exit, she settled down.

With next to no light coming in from the small opening at the top of the shelter now that dusk had fallen, Jack had to make do with the shadows to guide him to the spot indicated. Settling, he observed that old skins had already been thrown down and as he felt his body relaxing into sleep, he realised that he was not only bone tired, but comfortable also. It brought him no consolation.

--

_(Third month in captivity)_

_He lay halfway between wakefulness and sleep, the cotton wool that had invaded his brain for the past days beginning to dissolve, thereby allowing his various senses to kick in and provide him with much needed information. The tips of his fingers felt the softness of the material upon which he rested and hesitantly, aware that pain was just around the corner; he attempted to verify what he always did when he woke up from an enforced sleep. Toes moved, as did ankles, but a sharp hiss was enough to make him understand that his upper right leg wasn't so great. Slowly, his fingers moved to feel the area in pain at the same time as the nerves in his left shoulder began to protest the brain's impulses asking it to move. And he would have gladly obeyed the stronger pain's urgings even without a soft voice murmuring some words which he knew with his limited understanding were warning him to be still. _

_For a second his befuddled brain attempted to register this different hospital sound as he awaited the arrival of Doc with her hated penlight. She didn't appear. Groaning with the effort it took to turn his head, he next attempted the impossible - getting up. His endeavour was pathetic yet it elicited a stronger response from whoever was with him as a hand pressed down on his bare chest and more strange words were spoken._

_He'd heard that tone enough times when he'd awoken from an injury and Janet had been there to help him arrive at full awareness without causing too much damage to her treatment of his wounds. He stilled and used every bit of his remaining strength to open his eyes. The effort was too much, but then the feel of soft hands supporting his head prepared him for when the rim of a bowl was brought to his lips and a liquid was proffered. He drank without thought until the bitterness had him grunting in weak protest, automatically turning his head in refusal, his lips compressing in firm denial of what was offered._

_If he'd had the energy he would have been asking why was it that every damned planet in every damned universe he had ever visited had to have the vilest tasting medicines. Was it some kind of cosmic joke or possibly an obscene form of punishment for allowing him to be injured__? __But weakness prevented his brain from formulating such ideas._

_He slept._

--

(Two months earlier)

Squatting at the river's edge as he filled up the water pouches the following morning, Jack was assailed by the most peculiar feeling ever and as he sat back on his heels he looked over his shoulder and froze.

Half a dozen boys and two girls were watching him; Jack noted that the skinny boy he'd saved from drowning was one of them. Keeping his features neutral, he simply nodded, saying "Hi kids," and turned back round to wait.

Some minutes passed in which he could hear whispered conversation though he understood nothing. Making his chore last longer than necessary he started to skim small pebbles into the river pleased that his boyhood skill still remained. Watching one stone skip five times before disappearing on a particular stretch of smooth water, Jack's satisfaction was doubled when he realized the skinny boy had come to stand next to him and was watching the fall of the stones.

"Want to try?" Jack kept his voice low and gentle. "Here." And as if it was the most natural thing to do, he passed over half of the small stones he'd gathered in his hand.

The boy threw only to have the pebble drop into the water and disappear.

"Ugh ugh, not like that. Like this...watch me. It's all to do with the flick of the wrist...See?" And slowing down his movements, he proceeded to show the boy again.

Once more the boy repeated the movement but with his pebble skimming the surface of the icy water twice before disappearing.

"Eeow!" he crowed, turning back to his friends with a shout of delight. Instantly he began to throw again and again and by the time Jack made to return to his shelter all the children were skimming pebbles.

"Ne hah yea Leykata." And seeing Jack's frown, the boy spoke the words again, tapping his own breast. "Leykata."

Pointing to the boy, Jack repeated "LayCarter." and receiving a winning smile, the man returned the smile. He decided he'd have no trouble remembering most of that name. Now it was his turn. "Jack."

"Jeck?"

"Ja-ack. Jack."

"Ja-ack?"

If he hadn't seen it, Jack could have closed his eyes and sworn Daniel was speaking his name and the memory was so distressing that for an instant he gasped as if in pain, but as the other children began to repeat his name with more confident assurance he had to return to the present.

"Okay, okay." He rolled his eyes, holding up his hands for quiet and was surprised when silence fell.

"Well, er...that's right. Nice to meet you all. Now I've got to get back to work so see you all later."

And pretending that he could be perfectly understood, Jack loped past the group giving them a wave as best he could with two full water containers in each hand.

(While back at the SGC)

As the iris closed, General Hammond looked down from the control room already prepared for the defeated expressions he saw on the faces of SG-1 and SG-4. There had been no evidence of where his 2IC had vanished to or even if he was still on the planet. As he acknowledged the return of each team member, he tried not to reveal his own feeling of helplessness in the face of such a mysterious disappearance.

"Where in tarnation are you, Jack?" he muttered under his breath, giving up a silent prayer that he could only hope would in time be answered.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

**Indian Interlude **

**Part 4**

It became something of a morning and evening ritual and one Jack wouldn't have willingly admitted he looked forward to at all. But the sight of a line of children waiting at the water's edge each time he went to collect water wasn't something he could easily ignore, not when each and every one was calling out his name.

"For crying out loud, don't you have anything better to do?" he growled the second time it happened, but he only received a multitude of puzzled looks which did nothing to answer his question.

The problem, as far as Jack was concerned, revolved round the fact that he hated bringing any form of attention to himself only because he was hoping that the guards would eventually grow so used to his presence that they'd forget about him, but this little get-together wasn't doing his plans a bit of good.

Muttering a curse under his breath on this particular morning, he almost jumped in shock when he felt a tug on his pant's leg. He had come down to the water's edge extra early and had thought he might evade the usual practice.

"What the--."

Looking down, he was aghast to find a small, chubby girl-child looking up at him with intense concentration through her ebony eyes. She could, he surmised, have been no more than three with tiny plaits and gap teeth and cheeks he was absolutely sure a hamster would have been proud to have.

She spoke some words with fierce intensity, the lisp in her speech unfortunately making it impossible to understand what she said. Jack shook his head, glaring at her in the hope she'd grow scared and run away. She didn't. She continued to repeat her demands, over and over, each one accompanied by a firm tug on his pants' leg.

He could remember a time when Charlie had done just the same thing; he must have been about her age and just as--. He flinched as if hit, but it was too late, much, much too late to try and disregard the demanding little body.

"You don't happen to have the gran-from-hell as a relative do you?" he muttered trying to ignore the chubby little fist, so like another he'd doted on, attached to him like a limpet.

He could see the frustration beginning to settle in her dark chocolate eyes and yet again was suddenly taken back to a time when his own son had tried to get his meaning across. Knowing this could be the precursor to a major tantrum, he sought to head it off before it began. Squatting down to be at her height, he smiled and shrugged his shoulders hoping his mime would be understood.

Shaking her head at his utter stupidity, 'did all women have this ability,' he wondered as she knelt down and took up some pebbles lying at her feet. Then turning to face the water, she waited.

Comprehension dawned and Jack grinned as much from relief as anything else, but he shook his head adamantly.

"No can do, munchkin, you're much too young to be by the water's edge. Now scat; go on home now."

She may not have understood the words, but the meaning was crystal clear and she didn't care for it. Stamping her tiny foot, she gave Jack the evil eye, clearly expecting a positive result for all her effort.

"Been taking lessons from Daniel by any chance?"

And then getting no response, he decided action was needed to accompany his words so he put on his fiercest frown and barked,

"No!"

And realizing the little termagant was about to protest further, Jack beat her to it.

"I said, no!"

And picking her up, Jack carried her away from the water only depositing her on the ground when she was safely away from any danger.

Fearfully expecting some sort of huge upset, not being used to little girls, he was more than surprised to find her grinning as she held her arms up in the universal toddlerese language,

/Carry me./

Looking around desperately in the hope he'd spot some frantic mother searching for her lost daughter, Jack was met by the usual scene of a village waking up and getting down to life. Women were collecting water and starting fires, the usual group of children had scattered, running hither and thither and the men were tending to their horses or working on their weapons. He sighed.

A rider passed by and Jack looked up to find it was Geronimo looking somewhat bemused at Jack's predicament.

''Is she yours?''

The rider understood the body language if not the spoken words and he shook his head pointing in the general direction of half a dozen tepees then his mount broke into a gentle canter leaving Jack still with the little problem of a lost child.

"Oh, for crying out loud."

He ran his hand through his hair, which had grown much longer, a habit he'd acquired whenever he met something that didn't fall into the rules of O'Neill-life-as-it-should-be.

"Don't they know I'm the enemy here and not the babysitter?"

Fascinated by the strange words coming from her new found friend's mouth, the little girl turned in his arms and placed her own arms round his neck obviously enjoying this new position. Jack attempted another glare but it didn't seem to work this time round either and he continued to stare at her wondering if she realized she was lost. And just as he was about to go find one of the children he'd come to know, Gran-from-hell came out of her tent, looking only slightly taken aback to find man and child together.

Expecting her to give him a barrage of insults at finding him thus employed, he was bewildered when she spoke some words in a gentle, and if Jack wasn't mistaken, a slightly amused tone and the child answered, chortling in merriment. For a moment the old woman seemed to smile, giving Jack an appraising look. Then nodding, she turned and headed to the water shaking her head slowly as she mumbled under her breath.

''What was all that about?'' he demanded, pulling his head back to get a better look at the child.

Eyebrows over dancing black eyes rose up as if to tell him he really didn't want to know.

''A woman thing, huh?...Okay, if I'm to be your personal donkey I need to know your name.''

There was obvious interest shown but no reply, so Jack pointed to his chest saying his name. A flash of understanding was followed by the softly spoken,

/Teomyn./

Jack said the name which was greeted with a firm nod of approval. He smiled at her endorsement of his pronunciation.

'Daniel would be proud of me.'

But as the thought came to him, sadness assailed Jack that was so great he hissed with his grief making the little girl stare deeply into his eyes. Her hand moved from around his neck tracing the contours of his cheek just above his grey beard so gently that Jack's painful thoughts returned to her.

''Hey, it's okay. Don't worry. We'll find your mom in a flash.''

--

(Meanwhile back at the SGC)

"Is that it?"

Sam's head shot up, her eyes conveying just what she thought of Daniel's ill-veiled tone. Leaving her papers where they'd fallen from her hands, she stared in undisguised shock at SG-1's resident linguist and current pain in the mikta. If the scientist had used that tone of voice against her she would have been distinctly irritated, but the fact that he was adopting such an attitude with her overall boss, the head of the SGC and from what she could tell, one now exceedingly irate general, she had to wonder sometimes about the logic in a man having too many PhDs to count, but who at this moment was in the running for tantrum extraordinaire of the terrible twos.

It wasn't often she saw General Hammond about to lose it, but this looked like one of those times when she wished she was anywhere but where she actually was.

"Daniel."

Her softly spoken word of caution was ignored and not for the first time she regretted her lack of foresight in failing to sit opposite her colleague - a good, swift kick to his shins would have come in very handy at this moment.

Sam decided intervention was the only recourse and taking a deep breath to steady herself, swiftly rose to her feet.

"Sir, what Daniel is trying to say--."

"I think," interrupted the linguist, not taking his eyes off Hammond, his voice lathered with enough sarcasm to sink a Goa'uld ship, "Daniel is big enough to speak for himself."

Blue eyes narrowing to icy shards, the rotund air force general simply observed the youngest member of SG-1, neither encouraging nor denying him his opportunity to speak.

"We should be sending more units out, not down-grading the search. If it were you out there, Jack wouldn't just give up. He'd be moving heaven and earth!"

His censure was biting in its contempt.

This wasn't the first time Daniel had shown his disapproval, but Sam knew this wasn't the right time. Through the grapevine she had heard of the general's feverish attempts to call in numerous favors from all levels in order to keep the search for Jack alive and of the utmost priority, but Senator Kinsey was playing just the right number of cards to ensure that after one month the SGC's mission was downscaled. The loss of a colonel was a bitter one, certainly, but there were other colonels out there. Colonel Jack O'Neill was not indispensable.

But for some, he was.

Through gritted teeth, the bald headed man glared wrathfully at the bespectacled junior and through achingly clenched jaw ground out,

"Major, I suggest you take Dr. Jackson somewhere far away from me until he calms down enough to know that what he's spouting is a load of horse shit!"

Spinning on his heel, the general marched from the briefing room, and in a rare show of his feelings the door closed behind him with a force equivalent to the man's fury.

Again Sam attempted to reason.

"Daniel, you can't--."

His head span round.

"Wha-at? What can't I do? Just you tell me!"

Blue eyes glared into hers, the pain blindingly transparent.

"Is that the official line? Do you just happily follow the leader and forget about Jack? Is that how it works in this f-cked up military?"

And unable to face the pain reflected in her eyes, Daniel pivoted, going to stand at the huge window which looked down on the Gate Room, his arms wrapped round himself.

Sam stared at the linguist's stiff back yet still she tried to make him see reason.

"Daniel, you can't go talking to the General like that. It's going to get you nowhere fast."

"So what would you have me do, huh, Sam?"

His voice was dull and lifeless.

"Do we just carry on as if nothing's happened, as if...?"

He choked on his words, dashing a hand across his eyes. Then straightening his shoulders, he turned to face her. And ignoring the dark shadows under her eyes, ignoring the pain that lay so close to the surface, ignoring her body language which screamed out to him for understanding, he stated frostily,

"You're just like the rest of them. Everyone is expendable in your crummy world!"

he accused witheringly, and he would have stalked past her in dismissal had it not been for a heavy hand landing forcefully on his shoulder, spinning him round and pushing him into a chair.

Teal'c!

Daniel hadn't even realized he was there. Certainly, he'd been unaware of the arrival of the huge warrior, who had been off world seeking other avenues to follow in the unremitting search for their lost CO.

"What manner of speech do you use against Major Carter, Daniel Jackson?"

Raising her hand in an awkward show of least resistance, Sam attempted to make light of the friction that reverberated like a ricocheting bullet around the enclosed room.

"It's okay, Teal'c. Daniel's upset. He doesn't know what he's saying."

It was the worst thing she could have said, and seeing the linguist's appalled expression, she realized too late her mistake.

"Do you have to be so god damned compassionate all of the time? Can't you for once - oh I don't know - just show some real f-cking feelings?" he demanded blisteringly.

"Daniel, I didn't mean--."

"Screw you!"

He watched her flinch as he lurched out of his seat, only to find himself thrust back with powerful force; the wind knocked out of him.

"You will do well to retain that seat, Daniel Jackson," advised the Jaffa coldly, "because, have no doubt, should you choose to continue behaving in this improper manner, I will deal with you as a father with a wayward child."

Face flushed with outrage, Daniel felt the first cold tendrils of apprehension prickle his skin. He'd only ever known Teal'c to be a staunch ally since joining with SG-1, yet even in his grief he was taken aback by the change in the dark-skinned man's behavior.

"You don't understand, Teal'c--," he attempted to protest as he dragged in a ragged breath.

"I understand that you are acting like an unpleasant, wilful child who is in deep need of chastisement and I would furthermore remind you that I am old enough to be your grandfather. Know this, Daniel Jackson, I will not hesitate to undertake this onerous task should you continue to convince me that you are unable to restrain yourself."

For once, he was speechless and Teal'c took the opportunity to bow his head in greeting to Sam, before shaking his head in bleak defeat.

"The rebel Jaffa I contacted know of this planet, but the forces of the Goa'uld have never been able to benefit from its resources."

Sam frowned, still in shock at Daniel's fierce verbal attack.

"What does that mean?"

"It means, Major Carter, that there is more to be learned from this planet."

Teal'c's dark disappointed gaze settled once more on the chastised linguist who had wisely dropped his head in a show of submission.

"And once Dr. Jackson has ceased to act like one in need of correction, he may see fit to look deeper into the mystery of that place."

--

Briefings were briefings the world - correct that - universes over, he'd decided as he made an effort not to fall asleep as the old, wizened man, Snow Wolf, who Jack now knew was head of this group of people, talked before an enthralled crowd that had entered this large lodge. It was used, Jack had surmised, for ceremonial or important purposes such as mind-numbing meetings. And why he had to be here was an aggravation. When Little Step had told him to come with her, he had complied as one who had grown used to obeying the whims of old women and only figured it was something involving the whole village when they fell in step with others going in the same direction.

'Must be a hell of a good movie,' Jack muttered to himself, 'Just hope they've got subtitles.'

This could have been, he realized frustrated, the perfect opportunity for escape with almost the whole village attending this little shindig. But no, here he was, sitting between Little Step and her young friend, unable to understand a damned word that was being spoken. He'd never complain about a briefing ever again he promised himself, if only...

Now, well into the lecture, Jack allowed his eyes to roam lazily around the cross-legged group, until suddenly he became uncomfortably aware that most eyes were resting on him. His head jerked back to the chieftain, his attention no longer wavering like a bored five-year old's, to see Snow Wolf addressing him, waving his wizened hand as if to call him to his side. Instantly, Little Step was whispering in his ear,

/Go./

Hands were unexpectedly encouraging him as he rose to his bare feet, and giving the old woman one last puzzled look, he turned and made his way through the seated people until he stood, towering over the old man.

He sensed no danger in the atmosphere; saw no anger or hatred in the faces his gaze skimmed across, yet still there was a ripple of restlessness.

When next the old man spoke, the onlookers as a whole gave a satisfying ahhhhh of admiration upon which Jack saw something was being placed over his head. Knowing what it was, he lowered his head to his chest to make the chief's efforts easier to attain, and then saw the necklace of feathers and black, shiny stone that were the centrepiece of his newly acquired gift. And before he could even acknowledge this, a pair of soft, knee high moccasins were pressed into his hands. More noises of approval followed from those surrounding the proceedings while Jack began to feel himself begin to color.

Jack recognized the father of the young boy he'd saved from drowning, now stand and begin to address the spellbound group obviously miming the actions of first his son, and then what Jack presumed were his own actions in diving into the river. At what was obviously the pivotal moment of the rescue there were howls and yaps of delight. Squirming now, Jack felt that this whole affair had gone on longer than was necessary. This whole thing was somehow surreal. Kept prisoner and yet bestowed with gifts. It was absurd. He dropped his head, unwilling to meet anyone's eyes. And only when he felt himself dismissed by Snow Wolf did he consent to look up, meeting the understanding gaze of the one called Colored Sky.

He didn't look away until she dropped her eyes.

--

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

_It's been mentioned that my time frames are confusing - my much put upon beta, Nell, will agree wholeheartedly. So in the hope that this doesn't cause more confusion, let me explain: (i) the story opens in the near present where Jack is badly wounded and being taken care of; (ii) it quickly goes to flashback - approximately 3 months into the past, where Jack has just been captured by native Indians (iii) the story then goes on to describe Jack's life in captivity moving towards the present; iv) throughout this period of captivity there are moments when his present ill health interweave the story; (v) Eventually it will reach a point where the past and present meet and that's when you can then breathe a huge sigh of relief._

_And now that I've completely confused you, please feel free to read on - if you dare! _

Indian Interlude

Part 5

N.B. A minor character death takes place.

_(Third month in captivity)_

_Feeling the featherlike touch, he knew it was Colored Sky who had come to change his dressings. He always knew when it was her; her hands were softer and she seemed to take just that little longer staying with him, giving Little Step a break from her constant sick duties. She also smelt different, reminding him of Sam, as if she rubbed her skin in the most fragrant of herbs. He'd even wondered at times, if he'd been strong enough, whether he would have reached up to run his hands over her body. He'd never dared consider it this seriously with Carter; he was pretty sure she would have kicked his ass to the gate and back. _

_His eyelids fluttered as he endeavored to open his eyes and just before frustration got the better of him, he managed to partially crack them open and was rewarded by meeting Colored Sky's surprised though warm gaze through almond shaped eyes bordered by the longest eyelashes he had ever seen. White teeth were revealed as she smiled softly and whispered something he didn't understand before returning to her work on his thigh. _

_Clenching his jaw against the pain, he willed his body to stay silent, to endure the interminable minutes it took for the wounds to be cleaned and then redressed. Finally, when her work was completed, he allowed his body to exhale relief as she sat back, clearly pleased with her work._

_**/**__Your wounds are healing well.__**/**_

_Frowning, he managed to catch just a couple of words in understanding, but it was enough to give him a power surge and he managed to turn his head towards her, half returning her smile._

_Encouraged by his response, Colored Sky reached for the gourd of water and proffered him some while supporting his head and when he eventually turned away sated; she gently helped him to settle back and watched as weariness claimed him in healing sleep._

(Second month in captivity)

The sun warmed his back as he sat on the ground and weaved an intricate pattern of reeds, somewhat surprised that he was actually gaining a certain amount of pleasure in the task he'd been assigned.

And what, he wondered dryly, would Carter think of that? He had often watched the women of the camp doing this work and had been impressed by the dexterity of Little Step's gnarled fingers in particular. She may be as old as the hills but she could give the younger women a run for their money any day, he believed, in this allotted task.

He had, on one occasion, growing weary of ideas to get back into the tunnels where his radio had been cast aside, been so frustrated at his inability to plan a feasible escape that he'd taken up some of the reeds that lay in a large heap between half a dozen of the females and started to try his hand at the work. Jack had felt a number of eyes on him but he didn't look up, half waiting for Little Step to berate him. It never came. Then only when he reached a point of difficulty did the older woman's younger companion, Colored Sky, reach out, show him the next movement, then return to her own work as if it were the most normal thing in the world for a grown man to be so occupied.

On testing it at the river's edge later, the water had poured through at various points revealing his failings, but when he had made to discard it, Little Step had reached out giving his wrist a reprimanding slap and had then taken it from him and handed him some more rushes to try again.

Now at last he was as proficient as many and even went so far as to choose different colors of reed in order to produce a patterned effect which had some of the women murmuring in admiration.

And so now he sat at his work, enjoying the warmth of the late autumn sun, his ear tuned to the laughter of a group of children who were at target practice with their bows and arrows. Every now and again he'd glance up to see how they were faring. He'd noticed one small boy standing apart from the main group, his body slumped in the pose of one relegated to the sidelines, bow and arrows held limply in small hands. It didn't matter what planet or universe - there were always some who didn't come up to scratch and who were denied access to the in-crowd.

Jack had never experienced it being a natural athlete and hadn't given much thought to those who didn't fit in - until Daniel had opened his eyes to the outsider's lot. And now, as his dark eyes skimmed over the lone child, he was able to see the hurt in the boy's stance, feel the other's pain in being rejected and he felt a tight pain in his gut as he was reminded of Daniel and what the archaeologist had gone through as he grew up. But it was only when the boy turned away and moved that he understood the reason for his isolation; he walked with a pronounced limp and Jack could see that one leg was shorter than the other. Damn, but that was a tough one.

Without thought Jack was on his feet, ignoring the protest from his aching knee, catching up to the boy who, with head bent, had not seen the other's approach until Jack stood in front of him, blocking his way.

**/**Hi. My name's Jack.**/**

Brown eyes which were still trying to hide the pain of rejection rose, albeit reluctantly, to his and instantly Jack pointed to the bow and mimed that he wanted to see the boy use it.

Shaking his head in dismissal, the boy made to continue but Jack blocked his path, smiling to show he was not doing this out of spite.

**/**Please. Show me**./**

Knowing his presence was welcomed by almost all the children of the village, Jack decided to use this to his advantage and he pointed to a bush in the distance, well away from the village and the people and began to walk towards it, looking back to check if the boy was going to follow. For a moment it looked as if the boy was going to go his own way, but the temptation was too great and he trailed along until he came to stand beside the tall, silver-haired man staring at the same bush.

"Are you waiting for it to turn into a tree or what?"

The words may not have been understood, but the meaning was transparently clear.

Frowning, the boy with the soulful eyes placed the arrow carefully in its notch, his concentration fully on the task, then just as he was about to pull back on the bow Jack adjusted his right shoulder and shifted his right leg, the shorter one, further forward.

Not taking his eye off the target but clearly annoyed - the huff of indrawn air said it all - the boy now took careful aim. Yet again, he felt a hand tilt up his chin and this time he understood the native word used by the foreigner.

/Look./

He hadn't realized he was waiting for permission to release his arrow until the man spoke softly and then the narrow piece of wood with its brightly colored feathers was flying through the air, the aim of the arrowhead true, just falling short of its target.

No howl of delight emanated from the young body, but the joy which flashed in coffee-colored eyes was plain to see and he turned to Jack with wonder and just a hint of hero worship on his features.

**/**Again._/_

Jack demanded trying hard to ignore the intent look he was given. It reminded him too much of another young boy with fairer hair and lighter colored eyes...

The ritual was repeated with a few more suggestions given by the man, and again and again and by the end of the lesson the boy, who Jack learned was called Ta-mat-eo and which Jack promptly changed to Matt, was able to strike his target with relative ease.

Now all that remained was to do something about the debilitating limp...

--

(A short time later at the SGC)

She'd lost herself in her research, spent hours in her lab running simulations that would offer her some clue, no matter how insignificant, that might intimate where Jack had gone. And when she was too tired to continue her investigations, she would crawl into her bed and process other possibilities running mock simulations in her brain until she fell into exhausted sleep.

And then the day came; an ordinary day which gave no hint of the changes that would impact hers or the rest of SG-1's lives. When she realized she was actually holding her breath and was in danger of falling to the laboratory floor as Daniel straightened from his examination of the specimen through the microscope, she inhaled desperately needed oxygen and she saw the spark of awareness in his blue eyes which for so long had appeared dull and lifeless.

"Well?"

She was unable to hold at bay her desperate eagerness to hear what she'd been longing for since finding her CO had disappeared. Just one clue, one nugget of information to point them in the right direction. Surely that wasn't asking too much?

"There's definitely something in the soil particles that's throwing off the MALP readings. That could be an explanation for the aerial analysis to be false."

"You're sure?"

Her eyes were riveted to his, the strain in her slim body so taut she looked ready to burst apart.

"It needs further investigation."

Her mouth was bone dry with tension.

"Daniel?"

She needed more; demanded it.

"We need to go back! Now!"

--

(Nearly the third month of captivity)

His attention may have appeared to anyone observing him to be fully involved in the task of grinding the corn with his head lowered and his right hand and shoulder bent hard at work, but as the tribe's horsemen rode past he counted twenty-one riders, the finest and brightest of the warriors and he wondered if they were formed to be a raiding party.

Just as quickly he discounted this theory; there were no painted torsos or headdresses, no elaborate display to send them on their way. In fact, a group of women were following close behind on foot. Several were paired up to each pull a travois with a variety of supplies. Maybe a hunting party? Yes, that made more sense. With winter soon to be upon the village, food would be scarce and so a foray to build up their supplies would be a necessity if the whole community of this village was to survive a long, harsh frost.

As he raised his head, he noticed a rider, Matt's father, had brought his horse to a halt and turned and suddenly Jack felt himself under close scrutiny and as if the warrior could read his thoughts, know what his deepest secrets were, the rider's eyes narrowed and after giving Jack the faintest of nods he turned to join the others of his party, riding across the river, taking the route which was dear to the colonel's heart.

He intended to be taking that same route very soon.

And so it was that the old, the young, the women with young children and the infirm were left guarded mainly by boys too young to go on the annual buffalo hunt, though this in no way diminished the young warriors' pride in being given the honor of guarding their village.

They had come when least expected.

Mouth covered in bright red juice, it didn't take a genius to work out what Teomyn had spent the last half hour doing and no amount of scowling and threats had dissuaded her from continuing this pleasurable pastime.

Crouched down on this pleasantly warm autumn morning, collecting the wild berries that added to their diet, Jack glanced at the chubby girl kneeling beside him, Rat Face nearby, seeming to watch all with a quizzical frown on its comical face. That it was Jack's basket the child kept dipping into seemed to afford her immense pleasure and between munching on the sweet fruit and throwing Rat Face some choice offer, she chortled happily between pointing out some particularly heavy bunches of fruit which would be worth picking. Naturally for her benefit.

Frowning at the paltry amount of fruit he had gathered after all his effort, the colonel attempted to turn a famous O'Neill glare on the small girl. He had particularly wanted to collect a large quota of the berries knowing that this was to be, if all went well, the last time he would be required to do this chore. He first narrowed his eyes at the dog.

"You are no help," he accused, then turning to the little body at his feet, he continued, "And do you have any idea what Small Steps is going to say to me when she sees how much I've got to show?"

Quizzical almond eyes watched him, not at all fazed by his apparent severe features, the light of mischief dancing in the depths of her eyes. Reaching up to take some more, she frowned when Jack stepped back, raising the reed basket out of reach.

"Oh no, young lady. Eat any more and your mom is going to be after my hide when you start having a belly ache. Now skedaddle. Go find someone else to annoy."

His meaning was perfectly clear even if the words were foreign to the small girl's ears and poking her tongue out at him, she was shocked when he did the same, her small hand jumping to her open mouth in astonishment. Adults just didn't do that sort of thing in her world. But before she could laugh at him, a voice behind one of the berry bushes to his right, broke into smothered laughter.

Whirling, Jack was discomfited to find the young Indian woman, Colored Sky, who often accompanied Small Steps when she went out gathering herbs, had seen him go down to the level of a three year old. Coloring, he frowned to see she was plainly amused by his juvenile behavior, more so when she peeked into his basket and saw how few berries he had gathered. She clicked her tongue and shook her head in admonishment.

"Hey, it isn't my fault. She's to blame!"

And turning, he looked to place the blame squarely on the shoulders of a little someone who had chosen that moment to disappear. "Darn it, where is the pest when you want her?"

**/**Your lodge will know hunger if this is how you go about finding food./

His scowl grew as he understood most of what she had said, even if the tone was light and musical to his ears. Dropping his head, he stared at the ground until a tug on his hand had him rising and following where she led him to a new clump of bushes heavy with ripe fruit.

Turning his head to watch his new companion, Jack found her engrossed in her work, her lithe hands plucking and picking the choicest fruit, her own basket almost full. He looked down at his own meagre collection and grumbled under his breath until a huge bunch of berries was dropped into his container. Looking up in surprise, he could still tell she was laughing at him, but it didn't seem such a bad thing. After all, her eyes looked particularly attractive when they sparkled as they were in the late morning sunlight, and her lips, turned up, were enough to make him start thinking--.

Crap! He looked away, startled by his train of thought. Just because she'd shown him some kindness didn't mean...

He was in trouble deeper than a bore hole if he could even begin to consider the thought of these people as anything other than his enemy. So okay, the kids were something else, but adults, that was a different matter and returning the fruit to her basket stiffly, he then turned his back on the young female, aware that she was looking at him with confusion in her black eyes.

Just as he was about to move away, to make sure Colored Sky got his message loud and clear, he heard the startled cry coming from the river mere yards away, followed by the whoop and war cries of others. Not sure what this was, Jack was about to stand when he saw the appalled look in the woman's eyes and understanding was instantaneous. The Yakinees!

Hair on end, Rat Face growled throatily, fangs bared as he too sensed the smell of the hated enemy.

In an instant Jack had reverted to the well-oiled machine he had been trained to be and his first thought was,

'How many of the bastards are there?'

Grabbing Colored Sky's wrist painfully tight, he jerked her roughly to the ground, pushing her well into the heavy grown bushes, growling harshly,

"Stay down!"

upon seeing that she was about to stand and reveal herself.

Gone was the sadness that always seemed to pervade his dark eyes; no longer was there the hint of mischief ready to bubble to the surface for any child in his vision. Here, Colored Sky realized, was the man to match the marks on his back. Eyes now were filled with hatred and death and she drew back, not knowing this stranger before her.

He saw the look, understood the fear in the woman, but had no time to put her at her ease. Quickly, looking over her shoulder, Jack saw Teomyn running towards her mother who screamed out in anguish knowing her precious daughter's life was in grave peril.

From the approaching hoof beats and triumphant whoops Jack knew that a rider would soon be upon the child. Raising his head, he assessed the situation and threw himself towards the crying girl, taking her in his arms and rolling just as a hand reached down to scoop her up. Thrusting the child into the arms of her mother, Jack whirled, hauling down hard on the bridle of the painted war pony he had managed to latch onto, seeing the look of shock on the enemy warrior's painted face as he rose up out of the bushes and brought the animal to a grinding halt.

The spear, now aimed at Jack's mid-section - a killing blow - instead scored a groove down his ribs, stingingly painful but failing to do any major damage, and a curse mingled with a grunt of satisfaction, Jack grabbed the shaft of the weapon pulling and twisting it so that the rider span out of his seat and landed on the hard ground, the spear rolling away. Twisting in an instant to be on his feet, the native drew a knife at his waistband and dropped low as he lunged. With no weapon, Jack had to rely on his evasive techniques, falling back as the warrior advanced, letting him think that Jack was retreating

The eyes were the signal, black and tinged with hate and Jack kept his own trained on the enemy's. It was then a yellow scrap of fur flew through the air, teeth laid bare, the growl of battle in full flow as Rat Face latched on to the warrior's right arm, worrying at the flesh as his crazed eyes glared their own bitter hatred. In an instant the warrior had wrenched his arm free, sending the dog flying through the air to land dazed and unmoving.

But it was all the distraction Jack needed and when the warrior dove right, the airman was ready; lashing out with a bare foot he made solid contact with the back of the attacker's left knee, eliciting a grunt of pain and as the hand holding the knife drooped momentarily, Jack was on it in an instant, bending back the wrist bone until it snapped. The warrior cried out in pain instantly dropping the knife which Jack scooped back up and plunged into his opponent's chest. Surprise was swiftly followed by a glazed death look and the warrior fell boneless to the ground.

Dragging in great gusts of air, Jack was all too conscious that the screams and cries coming from the village meant there was more to be done and with a bound he was up on the riderless pony's back, one last look to check that the women and child were safe, reminding them harshly to stay where they were hidden from view and then his heels lashed the sides of the piebald and he was racing forward, knife already tucked into the waistband of his pants, the spear held ready, relieved to see Rat Face limping along behind. Ahead he saw a boy race out of a lodge, and with a gut wrenching ache realised it was Ta-mat-eo, his limp a give away. Bow in his hands, he was steady and true as he took aim and sent an arrow whistling into the shoulder of one of the attacking horsemen.

Yelling for the boy to take cover, Jack urged his mount forward, screaming to take the attention of the two bearing down on the boy, and it seemed his plan was working when the wounded one of the pair turned his steed and galloped back over the river in obvious retreat. But not so the remaining one. With a whinny, the rider's garishly painted pony leaped forward and the Yakinee raised his tomahawk and brought it down to slice against the boy's unprotected head. As Jack roared his anguish, the boy dropped lifeless.

Not counting his journey to the village, it had been some years since he had ridden, but he had been given lessons by a good horseman and now as putrid hatred raced through his veins, he drove his mount on, forcing it to impact with the other pony as Jack threw himself at the enemy rider, knife poised. They fell heavily to the ground and without forethought Jack lashed out with killer instincts the knife slicing through cartilage and veins in the warrior's neck as if through butter. The head of SG-1 was on his feet and leaping onto his mount before the gurgle of death had been completed.

--

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6

**Indian Interlude**

**Part 6**

Yanking on the bridle, Jack hauled his mount to a halt, eyes slicing left and right, ready for any threat, but only the sound of wailing voices and pitiful cries reached his ears as young children and women moved around the camp, stooping to help a fallen victim or simply kneeling beside a body, heads bowed in grief as they sang to the Spirit a song of lamentation.

When Colored Sky entered his line of sight, Teomyn held tightly in her arms, Jack whirled to meet them; his face twisted in rigid anger as he reached down and grabbed her shoulder, jerking her almost off the ground.

/I told you to stay put!/ he growled.

Automatically he looked to their rear, his eyes closing in relief when he saw Little Step following on. Releasing the younger woman he turned his pony three-sixty degrees.

He tried not to look at the group gathered around the body of Ta-mat-eo; didn't want to see the shattered look on the mother's face, aged far too soon with her grief; didn't want to think of the father who would soon return to the village to find, like many others, that life would never be the same. Nor did he want to see the hurt confusion in Colored Sky's eyes as she continued to watch him.

Quelling such weak emotions, his eyes scanned his surroundings yet again and only then did he realize what this offered. Looking to the mountains, he searched for the trail that he had taken down to the plains, knowing now was the time to go, now was the time when no one would or could prevent him. And yet, the urgent tone of Colored Sky consoling another wailing woman, caught his attention and reluctantly he turned to them, kneeing his pony forward.

/What is it?/

Slowly, with painful exactness and use of hands, Colored Sky spoke as if to a child.

/The Yakinees have taken her son./

/Which way?/

But even as Colored Sky turned away from the cold, grey-scarred mountains, pointing across the prairie, Jack knew without asking. About to kick his piebald in that same direction, the dark-haired woman held onto the reins, reaching up to lift up his bloodied shirt. But jerking away from any helping hands, Jack raced away, the harsh thud of galloping hooves churning up the ground the only sound he welcomed to his ears, Rat Face by his side. He had hardened himself to everything around him, even the sight of Snow Wolf's body now appearing so small and broken in death as he had tried to give shelter to two young children also cut down by a coward's hands.

--

It was almost dark when he was able to turn his pony around. He rode in silence, his body a dead weight and he would have liked nothing better than to hunch forward, wrap his arms round the piebald's neck and sleep, relying on his mount to get him back to the village. He couldn't do that.

Hours later, under an ink-black sky, the burning lights from half a dozen burial pyres in the far distance kept him focused when his head whirled and his body drooped from utter bone weariness. Both pony and rider were worn out, but Jack could allow himself or his mount no rest.

Onward, over the heavy ground he travelled, the sharp cold making little impression on him any more. And when the horse sensed the dangers of the fires and smelt the reek of burning flesh and would have turned away, he soothed its fears with softly spoken words, but kept it on the path he followed, still careful of his precious burden. The dog lay across the front, content to take rest, head low until it too sensed the nearness of the community and scrambled to the ground, trotting on ahead and barking greetings to the other canines of the village.

They gathered silently outside Little Step's lodge, waiting for him to halt before them. No one moved, as if too afraid to accept the obvious, until gently, Jack drew aside his shirt and revealed the sleeping bundle, tiny, wizened face scrunched up as if ready to cry. Slowly, arms reached up and the baby was taken from him and then, when least expected, he was able to reach behind and lower to the ground another who had also been hidden from view behind a blanket. With gasps of astonishment, the women and children pushed closer and Jack now lowered a toddler, no older than Teomyn onto the ground, legs ready to buckle from sleep until Colored Sky scooped the little girl up and called out excitedly as she moved to a lodge dark with despair.

The cry of joy and relief was balm to the people engulfed in such grief and as the sole surviving grandchild of Snow Wolf was placed in her mother's open arms and gathered close, healing tears washed over the child's bruised body.

Too tired to watch the complexity of emotions that washed over these people's faces, Jack's instincts still remained firm. He looked to the shadowed cliffs which seemed to call him with an even louder demand, now just a dark mass against the indigo sky until his gaze sought out Little Step.

She could almost reach out and touch him and he did not miss the new lines scored deep in her already creased face, testament to the horrors of the day. Grateful that the shadowed darkness ensured that she missed the steady drip of blood that trickled from his wounds and soaked his clothes, he told her with eyes steeped in sadness that he was leaving. Yet still her eyes gave him blessing; she knew what was in his heart; there was no need for a spoken word.

As most of the attention was on the returned children, Jack bowed his head once and turned away, his horse reluctantly heading for the deep flowing river. Rat Face whined plaintively, following Jack's path but then returning to the lodge of Little Step. He barked once. Jack didn't look back.

With head tucked into its chest, into the icy depths of the river the horse stepped out, feeling its way, resisting the pull of the currents that swirled beneath the surface, obeying the commands through rein and knee until all at once, there were no more signals.

The pony felt his burden begin to slip.

Jack was unaware when his body hit the water, was unaware as women raced to his side, was unaware when they hauled him from the water.

Placed on a buffalo skin, he was carried without ceremony to Little Step's lodge and with no attention paid to his dignity he was stripped naked of his sodden clothes and laid carefully on furs even as those with knowledge of the healing ways gravely studied his wounds then went and mixed potions. When they returned they worried at the injuries which looked all the worse when the skins of the lodge's entrance were opened giving access to the light from the fire's glow. The fire was stoked and more wood added until it blazed with a fervent intensity throwing shadows which licked up the sides of the tepee.

Within, Jack squirmed away from the hands that moved over his wounds, groaning and cursing when fingers pressed into infected injuries teasing out dead flesh and old blood. He was only half aware when his teeth were prised apart and a piece of old tanned hide was shoved between his teeth. Turned onto his side, he was oblivious of Little Step approaching through the tent's opening, a knife, its metal blade red from the fire, held within her rag protected hands. But when the flat of the blade rested on his jagged hip wound he screamed; screamed as if the hounds of hell were at his feet. And even in his agony he bucked away from the torment, begging that he not be burnt alive even as he smelt his own flesh on fire.

When the treatment was repeated a second and third time, but on his ribs and shoulder, he had lost his senses and hands that had mercilessly held him down were now free to aid in the work needed to keep him alive.

--

'Damn but this is hot. Why the hell do we always come to planets that either freeze your butt off or frazzle your brain?'

He promised himself he was going to have serious words with Carter and Daniel; they were going to have to try a damn sight better in choosing the locations otherwise their school report was going to be spectacularly disappointing come the next write up.

Feeling the sweat trickling down his temples, he hoped Sam had brought along one of those little fan thingamajigs with a battery; if so, he'd have to snag it from her which meant either begging or going black ops. He frowned, not quite sure which he was in the mood for. On the plus side, not wanting to be an eternal pessimist, it might mean she stripped down to her tank top and...

He squirmed in his sleeping bag wanting to throw off the suffocating cover, but movement resulted in a vicious pain lancing him in the side and he yelled at the unexpectedness of it, eyes flashing open in bewilderment, unsure why he was in such agony. A shadowy figure hovered above him and he called out instinctively.

"Carter?"

His voice was barely recognizable to his own ears so he wondered what his team would think. No doubt Doc would have something... His unfocused eyes blinked in confusion as the expected walls of the infirmary didn't materialize before him and screwing his eyes shut, he waited a moment before opening them again. And as the insides of the lodge slowly became familiar, he let out a whimper of acute distress that his fevered brain had tricked him into thinking he was home.

Closing his eyes against the burning sting behind his eyelids, he resisted the show of vulnerability which demanded release, forcing down the lump which formed in his throat.

--

The days flowed like the river, one into the other seeming to have no beginning and no end. He missed the first fall of snow and the river turning to ice in parts. His existence revolved simply around waking to be coaxed to take nourishment and waking to the excruciating feel of his wounds being cleaned. He cared for neither and would have curled up on the skins beneath him and lost himself in his fevered dreams, but many were there insistent on his taking sustenance.

He had tried to deliberately misunderstand their words and proffered food, hunching away as best he could. Sometimes it worked, but all too often hands reached out pressing unwanted sustenance upon him and too weak to withstand their insistent coaxing, he had swallowed against the knot in his throat, willing the ordeal to end to allow him the release to fall back and sleep.

But sleep held its own torment.

His dreams were crueler than any heart-stopping nightmares because they offered him a fantasy world where he was back with SG-1; Te-mat-eo was well and whole, no limp marring his movements and Snow Wolf blessed them all. He felt real happiness in those moments; could feel his lips curl up in contentment, but it was always short-lived and then reality was even more to be avoided than ever.

--

_The Present_

/I don't want it...Leave... alone!/

His language was improving day by day, but even if she hadn't understood the words, the frozen glare of bitter, tormented eyes spoke a language without need of words.

Sitting back on her heels, Colored Sky dropped her head despondently, putting aside the bowl of easily digested food, wondering what she could possibly do to avert what she sensed was about to be a full blown raging temper.

She was no fool; she had felt the despairing darkness in the wounded warrior, could almost taste his anger with his helplessness, unable to accept the limitations of his weakened body. He'd already been admonished by Little Step for attempting to leave the tent only the previous day and now, when he was still clearly too sick to do anything but be kept abed, he was showing his disapproval in the time honored O'Neill fashion of mulish behavior.

Casting a hurried glance at Little Step, she could see that the old woman had also been a recipient of this dark mood and she raised her eyebrows in consternation.

/I think he is at war with the Spirit, calling out for Him to return Te-mat-eo. He also calls on his own people to aid him./explained the older woman.

Wrinkling her nose, Colored Sky sat back and contemplated her difficult patient. Suddenly, a bright light played in her dark eyes and she turned to her elder with a gleam of satisfaction on her face.

/We must give him something else to take up his thoughts./

--

He awoke to the touch of hair near his nose and felt the hint of a tickle in his chest. Knowing it would be too painful to endure, he willed his mind to resist the temptation, batting a hand at what had caused this sensation.

A wet nuzzle, followed by a rough tongue grazed his stubbled chin and, eyes opening wide in surprise, he found Rat Face at his side, his head resting on his chest. Without moving, the dog's ratty tail thumped hard on the floor, a whine of restrained joy leaking from its mouth. Tentatively, Jack's trembling hand rested on the hound's head and softly he whispered words which the dog lapped up in perfect contentment.

And when Colored Sky came and cradled Jack's head in one arm and fed him a broth of bone marrow, he offered no resistance; his hand continuing the motion as the dog lay peacefully at his side.

Little Step had promised anyone who could hear that the yellow cur would not be allowed to spend the night in her tepee, but come the time when she prepared to settle down to sleep she eyed the hound through dark narrowed eyes. The look was returned, as open as any, head raised from Jack's covered chest as if ready to obey the command that was expected from the old matriarch's lips.

Instead, mumbling a prayer to her special spirit, Little Step placed a feather-like hand on Jack's sleeping body, checking for recurring fever. Satisfied, she brought the furs further up his body then she moved to her own bed wondering at her own addled thinking.

Rat Face stayed where he was.

_--_

When Jack had demanded to be allowed outside, Little Step had protested that it was much too cold to allow such foolishness, but still the chief healer of the tribe had acquiesced, seeing the determination on the invalid's features and rather than have him attempt what he demanded on his own, she felt it better that a compromise be reached.

A bed was set up just outside Little Step's lodge and on a day when the skies offered a hint of blue and only faint clouds adorned the skies to complement their backdrop Jack was brought out, bone thin and features ravaged by illness.

Yet the winter sun, though offering no warmth, was able to caress his cheeks, and he smiled to feel the fresh air upon him, even though Little Step had insisted on swaddling him like a newborn, much to his disgust.

/I'm like a bear ready for the big sleep./ he complained.

Little Step ignored him and it pissed him off.

Still, it was that or have his wishes thwarted. Nothing would induce the stern matriarch to allow him away from the protection of her lodge, even if it was a mere one step outside, unless he was covered from head to foot, with even more restricting furs atop him.

Rat Face, as was his custom, lay at his side and it was common to see Jack whisper words for the dog's ears alone. What was said, no one knew, but all seemed to receive comfort from this sight.

They came to his bedside one by one, the men who had returned from the hunt to find their chief slain, their women and children slaughtered, but the enemy killed and two miracles out of all the carnage. Geronimo was now the newly appointed chief and he came to offer Jack his freedom and an honored place within the tribe should he so wish.

And when the men had left, Jack was bewildered to find himself the owner of two sturdy ponies, half a dozen warm blankets, knives with intricately carved blades and hides softer than a baby's skin. Feeling weary after all the excitement, he still hesitated to ask that he be taken back, still attracted by the feel of a gentle breeze on his face. But as he felt the shadow fall over him, the sun blocked by cloud, he shivered and knew that Little Step would be on him like a hawk.

Raising weary eyes, he stilled to see that no clouds had stopped the touch of the sun. Before him stood the hesitant figures of Te-mat-eo's mother and father, dressed in their finest, two younger children following awe struck behind them.

Features turned to stone, Jack stiffened, his mind closing itself off in his distress. No longer aware of Little Step's concerned gaze on him, he listened with deaf ears to their thanks for ensuring their son was a brave warrior, living and dying as a true son of his tribe. Even now they were sure he and his war pony galloped the heavens in the company of the great Spirit, and to Jack they owed everything.

When Te-mat-eo's mother reached out to touch Jack's hand, he withstood the flaming touch which branded his skin afire, but when the dead boy's father reached to place his son's spirit talisman over Jack's head, he balked, unable to accept this show of their devotion. Half choking from the strain of containing his emotions, Jack wildly cast his frenzied eyes around, gasping in relief when Little Step hurried forward and demanded that two able-bodied warriors assist her in taking her charge within as he had reached the end of his endurance and needed rest.

Within the dark confines of her lodge, Jack refused to meet the old woman's compassionate gaze, tried to push her away, to turn from her gentle yet insistent hands, fought against the pull of her small but wiry body as she insinuated herself beside him, easing his throbbing head on to her withered breasts as she crooned something he neither could or even wanted to understand. He stiffened within her enfolding arms, choking down the huge knot of emotions long buried.

But her soft words and the soothing of her hand strokes, by their very serenity, broke through his brittle despair as nothing else could and even as he vowed not to accept her comfort - for his guilt told him he deserved none - he found himself leaning into her presence as the overwhelming need to vent his grief demanded release. And thus with no will to prevent it, he allowed his shuddering tears to soak into her hair as she gathered him in her arms and rocked him as once she had done for her sons long gone. She held him for enduring moments and when he shuddered out Te-mat-eo's name in anguished suffering, so she offered her own words, intuition telling her that the tears were shed for more than just the one child.

--

He woke and was instantly grateful that he was alone. His eyes felt gritty and swollen, throat thick with the bitter taste of long repressed misery allowed unaccustomed freedom. His head ached abominably and he would have given a month's pay for some Tylenol. Hesitant, he opened blood-shot eyes and groaned dejectedly until his eyes fell on the boots.

Everything stilled as his focus was channelled onto the pieces of black leather. His Air Force boots. Put there some time in the night after he'd stopped snivelling on Little Step's shoulder he surmised, reddening at the memory, and placed in a strategic place so that they were the first thing he spotted on awakening. It had taken someone with compassion to do this thing for him and he blinked long and hard taking heavy breaths to hold it all together.

His uniform had long fallen to shreds, replaced over the months by one garment after another until, by the time of the enemy raid, he'd been kitted out in buckskin leggings and shirt together with moccasin footwear, but his boots were something else and as every man from foot soldier to general knew, one's boots, once broken in, were one's best friend, watched over and nourished, lovingly shone and waxed with hands as gentle as a lover's. Jack stared at his boots with lust. He wanted them on his feet and if it was the last thing he did, he aimed to do that right now.

He decided he couldn't quite face the image of being in only a loincloth with his boots, so while Little Step was away he stumbled from his pallet and searched out his Indian clothes that he knew the old woman had been repairing.

By the time he was dressed he had to admit, if only to himself, that he was ready to return to his bed. His hip throbbed with an insistent intensity that had his teeth on edge, while the ache in his ribs shot up a notch at every move of his upper body. Staring at the boots at his feet, he knew he'd reached his limit; there wasn't a cat in hell's chance he could get them on properly, but he could at least put his feet into them.

It took more effort than it should have, but he made it and remembered the last time he had worn them. Stumbling half bent towards the lodge's exit, Rat Face at his side, silent and uncomplaining, he promised himself that he would simply walk to the outside and then return, but when he again felt the sun on his skin and the wind ruffle his hair the temptation overrode sensibility.

Seeing the pony hitched to the lodge, he chose to go that one step further. He would ride to the river; show these people that he could leave if he so chose, was his own man and no other's, and only then he would return to the comfort of his soft bed of hides because he chose to do so and not because he was someone else's property. After going to all this effort, it would be a waste not to make such a strong statement.

Softly spoken words and a soft hand on the muzzle, soon had the filly curious and Jack moved to her side until he realized he might as well have wished for a stargate to materialize before him as to expect his body to obey his wish to mount the animal. But dogged stubbornness and Jack O'Neill were bonded brothers-in-arms and the warning pains that arced up his body were ignored just as much as any CO's orders he considered redundant.

He hurt. More than he'd truly anticipated. If he hadn't thought it would hurt more than ever, he would have dismounted, but now he was on the pony's back he dare not get off until the pain had at least subsided. Forcing the rising burn of bile back, he willed himself not to puke down his pony's shoulder. This was his prize pony given by the new chief for saving his sole surviving daughter; it really wouldn't do to dishonor this gift; besides, if he puked, Little Step would get to know and then he'd be in for it. Just because he'd chosen to take one giant leap forward in no way meant that the grandmother-from-hell had done the same.

His pony had stopped to crop on a patch of juicy grass, unaware that people were beginning to take notice of its rider. Unfortunately, without a firm, upright neck with attendant mane to grasp onto, Jack was in grave danger. Lower and lower he felt himself slipping even as he tried to rectify his position.

Gravity, he decided before he passed out, sucked.

--

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Indian Interlude **

**Part 7**

He wished he'd stayed out of it, but he pretty much came to his senses the moment he hit the ground, which he decided was a real shame, because he hurt even more. But other than that, he wished he could close his ears to the ranting in his ear as Little Step, who had it seemed appeared from nowhere, now accompanied three men who were carrying him back to her lodge.

There was again no applause for a job well done, no cheers in recognition of his outstanding efforts, instead he was subjected to a torrent of anger which, from the expressions of the guys carrying him, was fairly explicit in describing the lack of any intellect on his part. Trying hard to swallow any moans of pain his body was tempted to make, Jack attempted to put Little Step in her place.

Wasn't he a free man, he demanded? Had not Swooping Eagle, not bestowed on him great honor and given him his own Indian spirit name? He was Guardian of Small Children and didn't that warrant respect she was miserably lacking?

Sadly, being stripped to the buff and put to bed like a naughty toddler wasn't exactly conducive to giving him the manly standing he was aiming for, but Jack had never known when to quit, and he was still arguing his case when Little Step, her mouth tight with disapproval, uncovered his spear wound. He paled at the stab of pain that felt worse than when the original blow had been dealt. It was enough to halt the old woman's invective mid flow. The bleeding was profuse and just before Jack felt himself lapsing into darkness he saw her anger wither under his own wavering concentration, replaced with open unease.

--

His fever returned, but not to the extent that he lost himself in delirium and so he was wretchedly aware when he was carried out by ever gentle hands and laid in the snow. Struggling to escape the frozen embrace, he tried to fight the hands that insisted on covering him with the ice, but to no avail and no amount of pleading or verbal abuse could persuade those to desist in their care for the sick man.

When at last the village healer was satisfied, Jack was taken up and returned to Little Step's lodge. Extra care was taken in cleaning and redressing his wounds though to the palsied man it seemed little attention was given to his violent shivering.

In his misery Jack closed his eyes to the attention he was receiving, even in his sickness frustrated that those caring for him were seemingly oblivious to his needs. He wanted to reach out for Rat Face, to pull him close to warm his chilled body, but the hound had been banished to the far side of the lodge, well away from Jack and those treating him. He called for the dog, but a hard glare from Little Step kept the dog still, the soft, golden eyes fixed on the man he had grown so attached to.

--

/Who is Catter?/

Dark eyes that had been lazy with weariness abruptly widened, surprise revealed in their depths and Colored Sky saw something there before Jack blinked away all feeling.

/Why?/

Lethargy had fast disappeared.

/You called out many times in your fever for this person./

/She belongs on--./

/She?/

Colored Sky could not hide her surprise as she massaged a healing ointment into his skin, her gentle hand movements stilling on his arms and shoulders.

/She is one of three others. We are a team, close. If one is missing the others will not rest in their search. It is what we do./

/Do they still search for you?/

Jack closed his eyes against the overwhelming pain which surged through his vitals, stealing his breath away.

/They won't give up until they find my body; it is their way./

Colored Sky observed him beneath her dark lashes, well aware that Jack was hiding something.

/Do you lie with this Catter?/

Jack shook his head weakly.

/Our friendship is not as a man with a woman./

/Why is this?/

He was tired of the questioning, but at the same time found comfort in talking of Sam.

/She is a warrior and it is forbidden for me to lie with her./

Piercing him with a knowing look, the young woman demanded softly,

/If it were not forbidden, would you lie with her?/

It was almost a relief when Little Step appeared with heated water that would be used to wash Jack. And at any other time, he would have protested this uncomfortable reminder of his total lack of independence, but for once, he was glad of the excuse not to answer the younger woman's probing queries, allowing his mind to drift to his team, wondering what they were doing and if they were continuing to search for him.

--

He yelled himself into wakefulness, his heart beating fit to burst as he screamed to Ta-mat-eo to get out of the way, and as his trembling hands moved to cover his haunted eyes, he felt the soft touch of Colored Sky soothing his fears at bay, but not before he'd called out for Carter. For the icy chill of death had penetrated to his inner bones and he shivered as if from palsy, furiously blinking back the bitter tears which threatened to spill from his burning eyelids.

He groaned miserably as the furs were drawn away from his quailing body, attempting in vain to hold onto the covers even though from experience he knew it meant that heated stones wrapped in skins would be placed around his body to fend off the bitter cold. He stilled as he felt not the heat of the warmed stones, but the comforting touch of another warm naked body slide down behind him, drawing him close before the skins were once again wrapped round him. And as his mind struggled to accept what his body knew for certain, the warmth lulled him in enveloping peace and he relaxed with the knowledge that Colored Sky was wrapped around him, crooning soothing words to his aching soul.

And in the morning when he awoke, there was no one sharing his bed. And when Colored Sky appeared to help Little Step clean his wounds nothing was said by word or look to show that the young woman had spent the night with him. But he knew it had been no fevered dreams that had made him think such thoughts for his skin was awash with the scent of the woman's herbal scent.

--

He could tell she was almightily pissed, but his weakness so far had prevented her from voicing her opinion on his short walkabout and ride. But he knew it wouldn't be long before he endured a lecture from hell and her grim face and disagreeable manner were indications that it wouldn't be long in coming.

Never one to put off the inevitable, Jack's mounting frustration at his continued weakness urged him to encourage the showdown, after all, he'd faced down Janet Frasier and survived. Little Step couldn't be worse than the CMO of Cheyenne Mountain. Could she?

When Colored Sky entered the lodge, it was his opportunity to instigate the showdown that was inevitable from the tension that emanated from the grey-haired older woman.

/Can you tell her to just get it over and done with, so that we can all feel better!/

Both women stopped what they were doing and stared at Jack as he pushed himself up onto his good elbow and pushed back the furs of his bed.

Huffing in irritation, he motioned to the wounds on his body.

/I seem to have messed up things when I decided to go out./

He could tell Little Step's scowl had deepened. Things should get interesting pretty soon he surmised, undeterred by the raised tension in the atmosphere.

/Can you just explain to her that I'm sorry to have been a burden, but I needed to do that? I'd had enough of.../

His eyes narrowed, his words trailing off as he heard the dry snort of Little Step, but she kept silent other than her obvious open indictment of Jack's explanation.

Almond eyes flashing with their own inner fire, Colored Sky dropped to her knees and started to mix in a clay bowl an evil looking concoction that Jack eyed nervously. He hoped to high heaven he wasn't expected to eat that stuff.

/When Snow Wolf bestowed on you the name of Eagle Guardian of Small Souls, he made you a son of our tribe./

Speaking slowly, Colored Sky watched to ensure the recipient of her words had understood. His widening eyes assured her that he had.

/As a son of our tribe, you also gained a mother./

/Mother?/

His tone conveyed his stunned surprise and he turned to Little Step, hesitation now apparent in his gaze.

Colored Sky nodded sagely.

/You, Eagle Guardian of Small Souls, disobeyed, you--./

/Wha-at? Wait a damn minute. I--./

Head canted to one side, Colored Sky watched Jack closely.

/You deny you disobeyed Little Step?/

/Yes!... No! I mean, I...I didn't.../

His words trailed away as his lack of fluency in the language made him squirm in his bed. He was most definitely at a disadvantage under the pinning glares of these two women and it made him even more irritated.

Growling her displeasure, Little Step pointed an accusing finger at him.

/You could have died and all because you were foolish enough to want to return to your people before you were healed./

/That's not true!/

Jack protested hotly, the color rising in his face.

/You say you don't want to return to your people?/ she demanded coldly.

/Yes, of course./

And frustrated at the disadvantage of being in a reclining position, Jack attempted to raise himself up even further, ignoring the warning twitch in his wounds as he fought to sit up even more.

Quick as a striking cobra, Little Step pulled back his covers and brought a stinging hand down on his uninjured thigh, accompanying it with a stern admonition to

/Lie down!/ causing Jack to yell and jerk back in unmitigated shock.

"Ow, dammit, that hurt!"

He knew from the self-satisfied look on the lined face that he didn't need to translate his accusing words.

The old woman didn't even blink as she stared the injured man down, challenging him to make another such colossally stupid move.

Still glaring darkly at his newly acquired mother, Jack spoke to Colored Sky, his tone aggrieved.

/You told me once that mothers didn't believe in hitting their offspring. Seems you got it wrong/ he ground out resentfully.

Raising her eyes in the standard 'please God-give-me-strength-with-idiots such-as-this-one', Colored Sky explained softly,

/A mother has many years to steer her child in the right direction. Little Step does not have that advantage./

And at last, the magma started to flow as Little Step could hold herself in no longer and began to berate Jack with her verbal flood of reproof. Bewildered, Jack could only imagine what was being said and he looked to the younger woman to enlighten him, especially when Little Step suddenly stomped from the lodge in a clear fit of pique. But Jack's relief was short lived as she almost instantly returned, a wicked looking switch gripped tightly in one gnarled hand.

/I did not take advantage of the opportunity to beat you when first asked./

Little Step skewered him with her penetrating gaze.

/I will not make the same mistake twice!/

And making a great show, she took the weapon and attached it to a place on the lodge's hide wall, eyeing it in open admiration and then turning to give Jack a knowing glare that sent a message as clear as any words that might have been spoken.

Making sure her own amusement was well hidden, Colored Sky schooled her features into a stern mask to complement the older woman's.

/You are a trial and put Little Step's patience to the test. You are disobedient and.../

She searched for simple words that would ensure Jack continued to understand.

/...and the fact that you have not felt her anger before now reflects her great endurance. But endurance can only last so long./

Little Step made a great show of now looking meaningfully at the switch which hung in all its glory and seemed to have taken on an aura of its own. With a jerk of her wrist, she indicated her wish to take the bowl that her young companion had been so assiduously mixing.

Jack stared at it suspiciously as she approached him and knelt at his side, utensil already proffered towards him.

"Crap." He swallowed hard.

It seemed his punishment was by no means over.

--

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Indian Interlude Part 8**

(The Present)

As Sam glared at the towering mountains before her, she felt as if all the deities of every universe were punishing her for her failings.

She'd failed to protect her CO, failed to come up with anything concrete now that she'd returned to this God forsaken planet, and worst of all, she'd failed to rein in her forbidden feelings.

She had clung to the tight restraint she always held over her emotions, clutched it with almost religious fervour, a need she demanded of herself to master any outward show of weakness; it had become almost an obsession with her, but now she felt her resolve beginning to fracture.

She ran a hand through her unruly hair, grimacing as her actions brought to mind another who often echoed her movement whenever faced with a quandary. Closing her eyes to stifle the pain that was a physical throbbing within her chest, she willed herself to remain together. She could not afford to lose it now. Even when in the seclusion of her own quarters she had refused to give way to what her body craved, but now back on this hated planet, as she felt the last opportunity to find Jack slowly disintegrate into acrid ashes of despairing failure, she felt her resolve begin to shatter one agonizing piece at a time.

And, as Daniel's bitter accusations of earlier echoed in her weary brain, she understood that her resolve of earlier had been so hopelessly futile that she wanted to scream her frustration to the clouded blue skies above her.

Seeing the all too obvious regret in Daniel's eyes as she reopened her eyes, Sam smiled weakly trying to expunge his guilt with her own wordless gesture.

Time was running out.

This was their second day back and no amount of investigation and readings had found a way through the mountain that blocked their way better than any heavily guarded frontier.

General Hammond hadn't needed to tell her they were on borrowed time; his eyes had told her everything. But still he'd given her more than she had hoped for, but even that, she now realized despairingly, wasn't going to be enough.

Staring down at the rich, brown soil beneath her boots, she curled her fingers into tight fists and wondered when she would be able to accept that she'd lost him; lost him before she'd even had an idea that she had a need of him other than as her CO. A forbidden want that had been smothered beneath the military regimen of rules and regulations, allowed because she had a need she had thought more demanding than personal feelings. Emotions she had learned to negate when her mother had died, and she'd never stopped. What use were they now, for the future held no possibilities? Emptiness beckoned with its inexorable hand.

She watched dull eyed as Teal'c returned from yet another attempt at gaining access to the mountains. Failure, although not evident in his posture and expression, was there all the same. Sam could read him as well as Jack by now. And what might appear a blank page to anyone else, read like The Odyssey to her and Daniel. They had no need to ask of his progress nor did he offer it. Wasted words were not an issue for them. There was only one outcome that would validate conversation and as yet that was still waiting to be confirmed.

Smothering a sigh which only Sam would perceive as a show of weakness, she forced herself to smile encouragingly at her two team mates and held out tin mugs of an herbal tea she had just brewed.

The static on her radio almost made her drop the mug she was handing to Daniel, and she scrunched her nose in exasperation at revealing her nerves like a rookie cadet, but instantly her free hand toggled the radio at her shoulder. She had not been expecting any communication from the SGC just yet so dreaded that this was an order to return sooner than had been indicated.

"Carter to SGC, I'm having difficulty hearing you. Repeat that last message, over."

However, as she frowned in confusion, only static continued to be emitted.

Again she repeated her request and yet again there was only static.

Damn! She didn't want to walk back to the gate just yet. She needed one last attempt. Just one. She couldn't let it go yet, not until--.

"Cat-tar!"

If they'd all been struck with an electric jolt they could not have reacted more uniformly. Teal'c and Daniel leaped to Sam's side as she again toggled the radio.

"Colonel! Colonel is that you? Colonel, come in, Sir!"

Moving in different directions, Sam tried to see if any other position she was in would pick up the reception better.

"Colonel, just give me a signal, Sir. Dammit, let me know where you are!"

She couldn't help the desperation that was in her voice.

"Hello! Hello! Is there anyone there?"

Turning back to the austere mountains that stood out against the skyline, Sam knew without any doubt that the radio signal had come from there, somewhere in there, but the whole place was a labyrinth of tunnels which seemed to go nowhere. Pushing down on the fear which threatened to reduce her to frustrated tears, she made up her mind. She'd search every damn one of the tunnels if need be, but she wouldn't go back until it was done and to hell with regulations. General Hammond would have to haul her ass back to the SGC in person before she'd give up her search.

"Was it Jack's voice?"

Daniel asked uncertainly, filled with the same sense of trepidation and need to do something concrete.

"I don't think so, but it was his radio and don't ask me how I know, I'm just sure. Come on," she ordered, emptying her own drink onto the ground, "we're trying again."

"What about the SGC's deadline?"

She felt both men eyeing her carefully, but made sure to keep her face inscrutable. Her words were not.

"What about them?"

--

Oral story telling was part of these people's culture and a tradition whose every word was hung onto by every member of the tribe old enough to understand the spoken words. And so they sat in Little Step's lodge in deference to Jack whom Little Step had insisted was still too weak to walk all the way to the story-telling lodge - a point he argued moodily at every opportunity. Yet every spare surface was covered with seated bodies.

Teomyn insisted on crawling onto Jack's lap and making herself a seat of honor as Swooping Eagle told a mythical story that had more than once lulled Jack into almost sleep until the little girl's elbow or foot poked him expectantly and drooping eyelids opened guiltily. Other children attempted to get as close to the newest member of their tribe as possible so that eventually there was a sea of young bodies surrounding the injured man who didn't seem in the least put out by this seating arrangement.

/You are missing the best part/ the little girl remonstrated with a hint of exasperation in her young voice. /The outsider has been brought to the village!/

Working hard not to roll his eyes, Jack attempted to sit up without disturbing Teomyn's comfortable position resting against his chest. He gave the chief an apologetic glance and attempted to look interested. And as his eyes skimmed over the crowded lodge he could see that everyone else appeared to be immersed in this story that Swooping Eagle was telling, enthralling his listeners with deeds of outstanding bravery.

Holy shit! Jack's ears became ever alert as he started to catch more of the words that were being spoken.

No, it couldn't be, he decided, frowning with intense concentration as he tried to catch more of the story unfolding before him. But as his ears grew more attuned to the oral story, he realized with utter bewilderment that Swooping Eagle was telling _his_, Jack's story.

--

Once the evening's entertainment had come to a close, Jack was practically bouncing to ask Little Step and Colored Sky questions, but no matter how he phrased his queries on this occasion they seemed less than eager to comply. Frustrated at their stonewalling, Jack showed his irritation in true O'Neill fashion by refusing to have his bandages changed. If they wanted to be difficult, so could he. And growling at Little Step, he demanded that they leave him alone if they insisted on ignoring him.

Throwing up her arms in exasperation, Little Step mumbled something Jack was certain wasn't a compliment and stomped off into the night leaving the younger woman to deal with his attitude. He glowered at Colored Sky with flashing eyes just daring her...of what, he wasn't too sure.

/And why are you so certain that this story was of you?/ she asked dryly.

And glad that the shadows hid the rising color in his cheeks, Jack retorted,

/It was kind of a giveaway when all eyes were turned on me./

Snorting disdainfully, Colored Sky knelt to douse the flames in the small fire that kept the bitter cold at bay and Jack couldn't help the muttered protest. He still felt the effects of the cold weather far more since his injuries and he'd hoped that he would be asleep before this safety factor would be carried out.

Pausing, Jack sensed in the enveloping darkness that Colored Sky was giving him a steady look. Not that she would be able to see much, he realized. But still, it made him feel prickly, as if she had some extra sense that allowed her to see when he could not.

/You will not feel the cold this night, Eagle Guardian of Small Souls./

And as Jack attempted to understand the spoken words, he heard the swish of material falling to the ground and before he could voice his wishes, the golden-skinned woman had lowered her slim body next to his and joined him within his covered skins.

Barely daring to move, every nerve in his body was attuned to the sensation of skin against naked skin and as he felt her hand move over his body he groaned just as much in anticipation as for any restraint that was fast spiralling out of his control.

--

When he awoke he was somewhat relieved yet at the same time illogically disappointed to find that his special warming blanket had disappeared and Little Step was in her usual place, nose hidden beneath the warm skins, happy to ward off the day's chills for a few more moments.

Jack would have liked to have spent the next hours contemplating the extraordinary turn of events that had brought Colored Sky yet again to his bed, but it seemed that the older woman could sense when he roused from sleep and he could hear her start to stir, berating her old bones for making her rising so difficult. Deciding to forestall her ministrations, he pushed himself up on an elbow only to have a bony finger dig painfully into his shoulder eliciting an undignified squawk.

/Stay still, the day is yet early; the morning sun is only now touching the mountain peaks. It will be some time before its warmth reaches this valley. /

Rebelling against the order and still bristling from the discomfort in his shoulder, Jack stuck out his chin and growled irritably, /I need to pee!/

Stilling in her dressing, Little Step observed him coolly, saying softly, /I dealt with this need of yours while you were abed, I can do so again./

And moving to a corner Jack saw her reaching for a pot, the memories of which brought bright spots of color to his still pale cheeks.

/I can wait./

The old woman stilled, turning her head and observing him steadily.

/Are you sure of this?/

She knew oh so well how to increase his discomfort and he found himself nodding while swallowing his groan.

/I'm not a child/ he protested for the thousandth time and for a further thousandth time he received the same disdainful look.

/From where I stand those words do not seem convincing./

Muttering under his breath, he willed himself to remain patient, knowing it would do him no good to be at odds with the grey-haired matriarch. He hadn't a hope in hell of winning against her and any form of dissent on his part would only result in him being made to eat that awful glop she constantly insisted on forcing down him at any and every opportunity she got. No, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction.

--

"What the hell!"

Sam's breath caught in her throat as she found herself under the intense scrutiny of a Native American Indian who sat astride a painted pony looking utterly relaxed. He hadn't been there a moment before, of that she was sure, so how the hell had he appeared as if from nowhere? Her eyes cast behind him, searching for a hidden entrance that might be concealed within the shadowed rocks but she could see nothing to provide an answer.

The three members of SG-1 froze on the steep trail, but made no overt move towards their weapons as each one of them felt probing eyes pass from one to the other of them.

"Daniel?"

Sam had no need to say more, as the linguist stepped forward slowly removing his sunglasses, his heart pounding within his chest, his blue eyes conveying something that seemed to be understood by Swooping Eagle without the need for words.

The chief nodded once, kneed his pony forward and stooped down to pass something into Daniel's hands.

All three seemed mesmerized by the item, unable for the moment to do anything but stare at Jack's radio, covered in dust but obviously still able to convey some signal after all this time.

Raising eyes which were pools of hurt and hope, Daniel had to clear his throat before he could speak. One word only, but it was enough.

"Jack?"

--

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Indian Interlude **

**Part 9**

He was pissed, magnificently so and his snippy retorts and body language conveyed it in all its glory. If he'd been back at the SGC he could have expected a CO who would have been unexpectedly caught up in meetings which prevented their own discussions; Teal'c would give him a steady look which, while being courteous,would still convey that he was being a total ass while Daniel would stare at him in exasperation wanting to know what his problem was, knowing it would be something he had no power over but which simply in the sharing might release the pent-up anger within his friend. But it would be Carter who could deflate his seething umbrage like no other. It might simply be a raised eyebrow or the quirk of her soft lips, but she, more than any other since his mother, could diffuse a smouldering Jack O'Neill.

It had started that very morning when Little Step had, to his pleased surprise, allowed him to accompany her to the river. He'd been inordinately happy at this simple opportunity to escape the confines of the lodge until, that is, she'd urged him out of his clothes, other than the loincloth, into some shallow, freezing water and proceeded to scour his skin with a brush that would have done justice to a drover's skinning knife. Only the areas of his wounds escaped her diligent ministrations together with his reproductive organs which he'd guarded vigilantly throughout his ordeal, threatening her with a severe dunking if she so much as ventured close. And when he eventually escaped from the torture he was literally pink from being abraded, testimony to the force Little Step had expended on him when he should, in all truth, have been blue from the bitter ice of the river.

And returning to the lodge, he had reached for his clothes only to have his wrist smacked sharply. This wasn't the first time it had happened and he was about to vent his ire in splendid fashion when the complaint was squashed before it was uttered. Almost shyly now, Little Step moved closer and handed a shirt and trousers of the softest doeskin to Jack, intricate beadwork expertly sewn into the front of the shirt so that Jack's annoyance was instantly replaced by unconcealed surprise.

He held the clothes carefully, not taking his eyes off them as he asked softly,

/What is this? Why do you give me such a gift?/

Scowling to hide her pleasure at Jack's open appreciation, Little Step muttered,

/Am I not permitted to give my son a gift?/

/I don't understand./

/What is there to understand? A mother gives her son a gift of clothes; is it not a normal thing to do in the lands from where you come?/

It was the first time Little Step had alluded to his past life and Jack couldn't hide his surprise. There was something going on, he could feel it in his bones, but it was clear that the old woman wasn't going to say anything more.

So with only the slightest hesitation he ducked his head and mumbled his thanks, but there was also some uneasiness made clear by the words he now murmured.

/I have no gift for you./

Her eyes bright with satisfaction, Little Step's weathered hand patted him lightly on his cheek.

/You are my gift. I have need of no other./

And turning away, she stooped to push open the flap and left Jack to finish dressing.

The sun was quite high in the pale blue sky by the time he reappeared and instantly children ran up to him and began to admire his new clothing, oohing and aahing. Suddenly feeling more conspicuous than he preferred, he reached for the bucket, a chore he hadn't carried out for some time, only to come face to face with a scowling Little Step.

/What are you doing?/

/Standing facing you...Ouch!/

It seemed that Little Step had acquired an understanding of Jack O'Neill sarcasm and appreciated it as little as his birth mother had.

The smaller children giggled thinking it was a game, but Jack's grieved look told the matriarch that her hand had made adequate and healthy contact with his knuckles holding the bucket handle. The shadow of a smile touched her lips and she nodded in satisfaction while taking charge of the container.

With a stifled sigh, Jack accompanied her to the water's edge acknowledging the various greetings that came his way until, looking up at the grey stone mountains across the river, a glint of something caught his eye, but it was too far for him to see and his eyes returned to Little Step.

He was aware without understanding why that the atmosphere around him was different in a way he could not fathom. It put him on edge.

His eyes panned to the riders on guard, constantly alert, ready for anything that might be thrown at them. They looked as relaxed as they ever would when 'on duty', but he did catch the odd one raise his eyes to the mountains and follow what he could not. At his feet Rat Face whined softly, picking up the hint of anxiety and responding.

Jack's eyes dropped to the dog and his eyes softened.

"You sense something too, huh?"

Yellow tail and rear end began to wag enthusiastically as the cur sensed the full attention of the man at his side and he pawed at the man's leg in the hope of getting his neck scratched.

Carefully, well aware that any number of his wounds might put up a protest, Jack bent to oblige, noting the withering look Little Step gave him.

/Heh, you like him almost as much as I do./

Not deigning to reply, the old woman hefted up her bucket and began to return to her lodge. Jack bent to take part hold of the handle, allowing the woman to retain her own hold.

When he received a warning look, he shrugged.

/It's good to share the load./

There was no argument and they continued on together with the dog sniffing the ground at their heels. The smell of cooking fires was more pronounced than ever and Jack again found himself surveying the village, trying to put his finger on what was different.

The women were working at their various chores, the men reflecting a similar industry which lay more in areas of animals and weapons. Children, warned to give their favorite friend some recovery time, were playing their own games. Nothing amiss there, so why his extra sense honing in on something which completely mystified him?

He caught sight of Teomyn poking at the ground with a stick outside her own lodge. She looked up and met his eyes and he waved to let her know he'd seen her. She looked sharply away.

Allowing Little Step to pour the water into a large cooking vessel placed on a tripod over a blazing fire, Jack frowned.

He was certain she'd seen him. So why the cold shoulder? He moved towards the little girl, but Little Step's tug on his shirt halted him.

/You must eat./

He sighed. /I will./

The tug was harder, the glare more pronounced. /Now./

He looked towards the little toddler, and noticed the slump in her usually energetic bearing. Something was definitely up.

/I just want to--./

Little Step's eyes narrowed.

/NOW!/

Jack stilled. He might have made to argue, but Colored Sky he saw had appeared before Teomyn, knelt and after a few words enveloped the little one in a full body hug, rocking her comfortingly. Jack watched as the little one looked at him once more, and then shook her head vehemently over something said to her. Jack scowled. Something was going on and if he wasn't mistaken it involved him.

Turning back to Little Step he gave her a full blast don't-mess-with-me glare and demanded,

/What do you know that I don't?/

Little Step rolled her eyes in a way that had Jack feeling he was nothing but an annoying brat. She was, he reluctantly admitted, so much better at making him squirm than the severest of commanding officers and he wondered if he ought to take lessons from her. They just might come in handy when dealing with an argumentative archaeologist with blinkered vision.

/If you had a few moons to spare I could touch on this subject/

She answered smugly, but wasted no time in further elucidation as she gave her full attention to what Jack could only surmise was some kind of buffalo stew. He was hoping that this might make up his breakfast and he wasn't disappointed when she served him an ample bowl a moment later. At least, he hadn't been subjected to the awful paste-like substance that had been forced on to him day in and day out since he'd been wounded.

--

They were given painted ponies to ride, and though Daniel was a little hesitant, he soon settled into the saddle saying it was a sight more comfortable than being on the camels he'd grown used to as a child when in Egypt.

When he'd tried to communicate with the native Indian, he'd been greeted with a puzzled manner though it was obvious they were more than welcome, and as they entered the labyrinth of tunnels more riders appeared to lead them on their journey. Not once did they sense any danger though Teal'c kept his staff at the ready, forever the consummate warrior.

More at home in the saddle than her two companions, Sam was able to give further attention to her surroundings and had to admire the complexity of the tunnel system they travelled through. It would, she admitted ruefully, have taken an army of men to even attempt to find their way through the warren and even then it was questionable that they would have achieved their goal within any limited time frame.

Hours later, once they passed out of the tunnel into sunlight, Sam's breath was caught as she realized just how incredibly high up they were on the side of the mountain. Beneath her stretched a vista that seemed to go on for mile after undulating mile of plains that disappeared into a haze in the far distance, with what looked to be a tiny village at the base of the peaks, situated next to a winding river. From her position the view looked idyllic and she couldn't help but sigh in admiration, her senses on high alert as she envisaged the end of this tortuous time of loss.

Carefully, their animals stepped forward ever downward on the narrow, stony path that twisted and turned. With no possibility of riding side by side, communication was minimal and Sam allowed herself to consider the moment when she would meet her CO, because any thought of disappointment could not, would not be tolerated. Her keen blue eyes were fixed on the village below and she could, with the aid of her binoculars, just about make out the movement of people though it was still impossible to put features to any person. Still, she couldn't help wondering if one of those in her view was Jack.

--

He'd been told there was to be a ceremony, one of the religious ones that he'd attended before his injury. He knew this because of the spare ground in front of the chief's lodge which had been cleared of hanging frames and prepared for the seating of many, and drums had been brought out in vast numbers. This was, he believed, going to be a major ceremony. But as the morning hours passed and he saw more frenetic work being carried out, he found himself more and more in the way.

He wasn't allowed to fish, wasn't allowed to watch the boys at their war games, and wasn't even allowed to sit with the women. It was as if he'd been banished from any and every activity no matter how mundane and nonphysical and the idleness irritated him. But no matter how much he implored or moaned, he was denied any part in the preparations and in the end he'd stomped as much as his thigh would allow back to the entrance to Little Step's lodge where a thick pile of furs had been placed at the entrance for him to lie on in the sun. Sulking moodily, he threw himself down, wincing at the protest of his still healing wounds, mightily put out that almost everyone appeared to be, if not exactly ignoring him, wishing he were somewhere else.

When Colored Sky passed by, her arms full of wood collected for the huge fire that would later be lit to keep them all warm once the sun had gone down, he pretended he hadn't noticed her smile and childishly closed his eyes as if he were going to sleep. He'd show them that more than one side could play the pretend-you-aren't-there game.

But what had been intended as pretence turned quickly to reality. So that when the group of riders entered the camp, Jack was fast asleep with Rat Face at his side, unaware of the proximity of the rest of SG-1.

--

The tickling of his nose woke him. And though his hand brushed the offending annoyance away, it swiftly returned, making his nose itch with a vengeance.

Even as his hand rose up to swat away the irritant, he was aware that someone had covered him with more furs as he was snugly warm even though he could sense the last weak rays of an afternoon sun that would soon fall behind the mountain peaks. His hand contacted hair, lots of hair and he opened his eyes in surprise, only to find Teomyn had inveigled her way under the furs and had positioned her round, little form in the crook of Jack's body. She was fast asleep and Jack's heart swelled with the force of his affection, memories painful yet enticingly sweet of similar times in his past bombarding his senses. He scrutinized her button nose and closed lids, marvelling at the length of her dark, velvet lashes that seemed to float over her chubby cheeks. She had a firm grip on his dog tags and he knew he wouldn't be able to move without waking her. He settled back down, content to bide his time; there was no hurry. When you'd been to one festival, you'd been to them all as far as he was concerned. Far more fascinating was this small, perfect form asleep in his arms; she'd obviously forgiven him whatever transgression he'd committed earlier and he was happy. What had started out a crappy day in his estimation was ending quite the opposite. After all he had, he believed, one of the two most beautiful women he knew lying in his arms. What more could he ask?

--

Daniel was fidgeting and it took all of Sam's military restraint and more to physically prevent her from smacking him...hard.

She soothed her frayed nerves by promising herself that if he asked one more time why they hadn't seen Jack yet, she was going to give in to her strong impulse and bestow pain on the archaeologist.

She had smiled herself silly until the muscles in her cheeks had stiffened painfully, had permitted her hair and skin to be touched until she felt like an exhibit in a sensorial display and had nodded positively anytime any words were spoken to her.

"What if they're asking if we're murderers?" Daniel demanded aggravatingly.

Sam gritted her teeth and Teal'c at last felt it necessary to intervene.

"Daniel Jackson, I do not believe these people would have welcomed us into their midst had they thought we were in any way detrimental to their wellbeing. The fact that they allow their children to approach should be assurance enough that we are considered harmless."

Daniel scowled, his patience having dried up a long, long time ago. He had not weathered the loss of his closest friend well; none of them had, but he had resorted to sullen, withdrawn spells only broken when Sam or Teal'c intruded forcefully on his morose solitude.

With the impetus of finding Jack alive, the two other members of SG-1 had hoped he would resort to his former genial self. It was not to be; moreover it seemed the closer they got to the possibility of being reunited with the head of SG-1 the more exasperating he became. It was wearing on Sam's nerves; she was holding herself together with difficulty and Daniel was not helping.

The archaeologist continued his pacing within the lodge they had been ushered into, four steps one way, four steps back; four steps one way, four steps back; four steps one--.

"Daniel!"

She hoped the one word would be enough.

"What?"

It seemed it wouldn't.

Sam's eyes rested on him and suddenly softened as her own irritation seemed to drain away. She smiled in apology.

"I'm sure we'll learn something soon. You know better than any of us how some cultures have their special way of doing things. Maybe--."

Any remaining words were swallowed as the entrance skins were thrown back and two women, one old, the other young, entered and stood before them.

The older one stared at them long and hard; she didn't look like someone who should be messed with. Sam stared back with equanimity unsure what this meant, but willing to be patient if it meant...

"Where's Jack?"

Daniel pushed himself to the front to glower over the two women. Neither one backed away in the face of his presence; rather the elder began to rattle off words that were a complete mystery until the younger woman began to speak shyly and hesitantly.

"You wel-come."

She smiled shyly, a little unsure of her words but proud all the same that she could communicate with these new arrivals.

.

"You speak English?"

Daniel's arms would have reached out to grab the woman had it not been for Little Step who pushed the girl behind her as if to protect her from anything the archaeologist might attempt.

Colored Sky pointed to her companion and spoke her name and did the same for herself. She had practiced this ritual and was not about to be put off by some unexpected interruption.

"Where's Jack?"

Little Step had been about to raise her hand to wallop the impertinent man who had dared to cut short her well prepared salutation, until she looked into strange blue eyes which held an ocean of pain so deep she felt she might drown in their very depths. His weariness and hurt were so visible that she stilled her twitching hand.

The younger woman spoke in her own dialect and Little Step replied.

Again the younger woman stepped forward.

"Jack sleeping. Soon you see. Now come."

"Is he ill?" Daniel beat Sam in voicing the question on all their lips. For what other reason would Jack O'Neill be sleeping at this time of day?

"Jack sleeping. He get better."

And then, as if this was considered enough to still their questions, they were led, albeit somewhat shell-shocked now they'd been given verbal if not visual proof of Jack's whereabouts and well-being, to a large open area which had already attracted a number of tribal members who were patiently sitting cross legged on the ground, waiting expectantly. Before them, in fine regalia sat the man they presumed was the chief, surrounded by other finely attired men. He rose to his feet, his solemn eyes warming as they approached. Colored Sky continued as translator, again welcoming them and requesting that they join them in their festivities.

Daniel had intended to make some protest except that Little Step's hand fixed on his jacket and gave it a firm tug. He found himself seated next to her, his wary eyes knowing that if he misbehaved there would be consequences, and seeing the iron glint in her eye he didn't reckon they'd be pleasant ones.

Sam, even in this moment of tumultuous emotion, was able to step outside herself and examine her feelings, wonder how she could be so restrained when she could feel his presence, breathe the very air he was breathing and reach out and touch things that he had most likely touched.

He was sleeping she'd been told and she would have sold her soul at this very moment to be able to go to where he was and look down on him. She wasn't exactly appeased by Colored Sky's explanation - there had to be something amiss that he wasn't here now, greeting them with some laid-back salutation which would, at the same time, be asking why they'd taken so long.

She burned with an intensity of feelings carefully hidden; only her eyes gave her away and these she kept carefully concealed beneath the brim of her Air Force issue cap.

She'd experienced enough of military methods to endure the coming proceedings, sitting next to Teal'c with Daniel on her other side. Even as her every sense was attuned to the proximity of her missing CO, she was still amused to see that the old woman had attached herself to Daniel and was managing, against all the odds and much to her surprise, to keep him in check.

They listened intently though with no understanding to the speeches made, and then food began to be handed out and the members of SG-1 were encouraged to partake of the sustenance.

Darkness began to descend rapidly when they noted Colored Sky and Little Step both rise to their feet and leave and Daniel would have followed except that Sam's hand hooked onto his wrist and held firm.

"Daniel, we need to stay patient. We've waited this long, another half hour or so isn't going to make that much difference."

"What if it isn't Jack?"

She was stunned by the question.

"It's his radio. They know my name. They use the Colonel's name. I don't think they're going to produce a total stranger at this point in the proceedings."

She used a tone normally used on young, recalcitrant children. Feeling her exasperation returning, she wished that the old woman were here to deal with him.

As she cast around in her frazzled mind for something to appease her colleague, the sound of the large fire being lit assaulted her ears and captured her attention. Something combustible must, she assumed, have been put on the wood to make it burn with such immediate intensity and as the huge flames licked at the dark sky, her mind was cast back to the moment that Teal'c had returned to their camp to give them the shattering news that O'Neill was missing. She'd been staring into the flames of the campfire then, and so it was more than appropriate that when she looked up, she should see a silver-haired figure, dressed in local clothes being led by the hand by a tiny girl who came no higher than his thigh. It was as if the flames had brought him back to her.

For a moment Sam's breath caught in her throat as she devoured the sight of him, her nostrils flared, her eyes widened and she sat transfixed. No sound came from her and with shock she realized that her colleagues were both in the same state. Hungrily, she scanned him taking in his thinner frame, the limp to his walk and the careful way he held himself. Something bad had happened; she didn't need to be told that, but the way everyone around her seemed to watch him with open adulation put to rest her speculation that these people might have caused these changes.

They'd waited so long, worked so hard, worried themselves beyond sickness and yet now, when they could end this separation, each for his own reason held back, seemingly satisfied to watch what unfolded before them.

She was sure that a time before this, he would have sensed their watchful eyes, but maybe he'd grown used to being the center of attention. Certainly he didn't seem in any way disturbed that nearly every eye was upon him. Or maybe it was that the little girl had captured his sole interest because he showed no inclination to look anywhere but at his small companion. They were talking, the little one avidly and as he smiled at her the girl suddenly pointed straight at them. Casually, almost she felt reluctantly, he looked up and at first she thought he hadn't seen her. His eyes seemed to pass over her and move around the crowd. It was, after all, now dark so, with a trembling hand, she took off her cap and prayed the glow from the fire would capture its color.

TBC

--


	10. Chapter 10

_It has been such a thoroughly enjoyable journey sharing this story with you. I think Nell, my amazingly gifted beta, will be relieved in many ways as it has tried her skills to the limit, but, as always, she has come through with flying colours to ensure this reaches you in a well-polished manner. Thanks for your unceasing support and constant good spirits, Nell_

**Indian Interlude Chapter 10**

(Earlier)

When Colored Sky and Little Step had appeared, he'd wanted them to leave him as Teomyn continued to sleep on so peacefully, but the two women would not listen to his reasoning, Little Step insisting that he had to eat and attend the ceremony.

His protests were ignored and once Teomyn had awakened she seemed as eager as the others to join the celebrations. The tantalizing aroma of cooked meat drifted in the cool, night air and Jack had to admit, if only to himself, that he would benefit from some nourishment. As Teomyn insisted on leading him through the seated crowd to a place of honor close to Swooping Eagle, he chose to ignore what was happening and concentrated his sole attention on the little girl at his side. His thigh was still stiff from his long nap and he resisted the temptation to knead it with his hands. If Little Step caught sight of his weakness, she would no doubt insist he consume copious amounts of one or more of the foul-tasting medicines she was so fond of.

Bending his ear closer to Teomyn, he tried to translate the words she was chattering to him, twelve to the dozen, aware that she was getting more and more excited. He wondered if his newly acquired language skills weren't as good as Colored Sky had led him to believe because what he was hearing was some weird and wonderful story about strange people who had come from a land far removed. His arm was shaken as his attention appeared to waver and he tried once again to make sense of the information spouting from the little girl's lips. He could tell she was losing her patience with his poor language skills and in the end she resorted to pointing with her arm to the people sitting across from them.

And at long last, Teomyn was satisfied when she saw Jack's reaction.

He stiffened as a word she did not know passed like a whisper from his lips. Then more words, equally unknown came forth. She felt the trembling of his body begin and raised confused eyes to his. She had expected him to be overjoyed and yet, it was more as if he was afraid. Searching for the reassuring eyes of her mother and finding them, she relaxed though her concern for her charge did not lesson wholly. The little girl simply couldn't understand why he wasn't leaping up and racing over. Surely these were his people that the legend spoke of who had come in search of her friend. If it had been her, she'd have been shrieking with joy, especially if she'd been separated from her best friend, Smiling Sun. But adults were strange creatures at the best of times, and this one stranger than them all. But he was a much loved friend and so she knew beyond her years that she should put up with such peculiarities.

Slowly, on wavering legs, he stood, the movement reciprocated as if a reflection by the three opposite. He tried to move, but realized that the trembling was so great that his legs wouldn't support him. Stand, yes. Move, no. It was all too much. But as if sensing the difficulty he was facing, the three members of SG-1 suddenly surged forward and the crowd parted as naturally as the Red Sea for Moses.

Daniel reached Jack first then came to a halt and almost tentatively he put his arms around his friend as if he was the most fragile artefact in his collection, then bringing him close enveloped him in an embrace, whispering his name over and over as he attempted to persuade his brain that what he had was real. The linguist had to swiftly brush away the tears in his eyes which threatened to spill down his cheeks as he stepped away giving room for Sam to take his place. But she seemed to hesitate, indicating that Teal'c should make his own form of greeting. And in no way was she surprised when the huge Jaffa bowed his head and then took the Colonel in his huge arms and brought him to his chest, seeming to give him absolution in the moving greeting.

It was her turn. Their eyes met and she smiled a short tentative facial movement. Her hand came up as if to touch him, but hesitated and returned to her side. Yet Sam's eyes had a life of their own and seemed to dance in the light of the fire and the two were held in a moment of intensity so moving that no one could look away.

"It's good to see you,... Sir."

She whispered almost breathless from the intensity of their reunion.

The words were inane, though within them was conveyed a myriad of words and feelings that made Jack shiver. His mouth quirked at one side as he muttered her name under his breath and his hands twitched, but like Sam's moved no more.

And then they were seated again, opposite each other as Jack was pulled back down to his seat and the team were encouraged to retake their places. More food was served and somewhat amused, Sam watched Little Step appear and proffer some morsel to her CO. His eyes, which had stayed fixed on his team, reluctantly left hers and he looked as if he was refusing what was offered until a firm hold was taken of his left ear. Sam's eyes widened in surprise. She could see his mouth move in protest and grimaced in sympathy. That had got to hurt and yet, she felt the old woman's methods were done more from caring than anything else, and she relaxed in her seat, pleased when the food was taken, though the look on her CO's face told her more than the words she could not hear being spoken, that he wasn't impressed by Little Steps methods of persuasion.

The playing of the drums followed, a spectacular event accompanied by the dancing of two groups of men playing out a battle that held all enthralled. Yells of approval met the finale and feet stamped the ground to endorse their appreciation.

Sam had so desperately wanted to touch Jack; she silently and fiercely berated herself for failing to hold him as her two colleagues had done, to show him how much his reappearance in her life meant to her. But her restraint had been more for Jack than herself because she knew without a doubt that if she had taken him in her arms it would have been an embarrassingly long time before she would have let him go. And so strong were her feelings that illogically she began to resent the little girl who sat next to him, and even knowing how juvenile her thoughts were, she could not contain them.

She wondered that she had felt so short with Daniel because now she was worse than him a thousand-fold. And as her eyes glazed at the prospect of more of these proceedings, she noted Little Step return to Jack's side and encourage him to his feet. She stilled as she watched him sway, but hands reached out and gave him support until his balance was more assured. He sent her a sheepish look as if embarrassed by his obvious weakness and then he was moving, Colored Sky and Little Step on either side, his personal sentinels.

This time they wouldn't let him out of their sight, and rising, Sam, Daniel and Teal'c nodded to Swooping Eagle and followed in the wake of their team leader.

As they approached the lodge into which they had seen Jack enter, the ugliest dog known to man jumped up, clearly guarding the entrance of the lodge, its large, yellow fangs bared ferociously, and the low growl warning enough without the show of canines. From within, Jack's voice, weaker than they were used to hearing, called out and the dog instantly dropped onto its stomach and began to wag its tail ecstatically. Cautious still, they stooped to pass within the lodge, to find Jack seated on furs, his back supported by some kind of wooden frame.

He grinned sheepishly.

"I'm told you've already met my two guardian angels, but just so that you aren't too surprised, the short one has adopted me. Can't imagine why, but she's seems well taken and who am I to resist the advances of a beautiful woman?"

As if understanding she was being talked about, Little Step scowled suspiciously until Jack spoke in her language and then her stance softened and a hand reached out and touched his shoulder reassuringly as she spoke words that encompassed the whole group.

"Hey guys, it seems my mom has offered her home to you for tonight." Jack's eyes glanced around and his eyes fell on the various skins that littered the floor. "Looks like we get to have a sleep-over."

--

They talked well into the night and even when Little Step returned and threatened dire punishment should Jack not rest, still he would not be silent. He had a story to tell and questions to answer and others of his own to ask and like an oil well gushing forth its first production, he would not be silenced.

And when Little Step accepted that none of her warnings would be heeded she simply ensured Jack was warm and comfortable and left him, in some inexplicable way satisfied that he was in good hands. And it was only in the small hours of the morning that Sam coaxed him to rest. Daniel had already fallen asleep as if all the hours of nervous energy expended in the frenetic search for his friend had finally caught up to him and though Teal'c could have stayed awake all night, he sensed the need for these two remaining ones to have some time of their own and retreated to the archaeologist's side to settle into meditation and sleep.

Yet again she felt pensive eyes resting on her. "Glad to see you've looked after the team, Carter."

She smiled at the praise but had to admit to certain failings.

"Daniel has had his moments, Sir, but we've...managed."

It was a classic understatement, the sort she was renowned for.

"You've done well, Sam."

Her eyes widened at his use of her first name, so rare and so precious because of it.

Feeling the flood of emotion so close to the surface which threatened an out of control torrent, she dropped her gaze, willing herself to hold on, to not allow the outburst which was demanding release.

A hesitant smile tugged at her lips.

"It was just a matter of time, Colonel. I...we... knew we'd get you back."

"I admire your conviction." He scowled. "It's more than I had at times."

"Colonel?"

She could sense his restlessness and tensed with unease, but he held a hand up as if to calm her.

"No sweat, Carter."

He looked at some spare furs to the side.

"Look, we'd better get some sleep before mom comes and spanks the two of us."

And seeing Sam's amused disbelief, he decided it might be better for his image if she was under the impression he was exaggerating.

--

She thought at first it was her imagination, but as her senses stilled to pick up the least noise, Sam heard the muted sound buried beneath blankets and knew she had not been mistaken. Rising silently, her heartbeat now drowning out all other sounds, she padded barefoot to where she knew her team leader lay and kneeling by his side she uncertainly laid a hand on the furs covering his trembling form.

He froze and for a blind moment of panic she feared he would ignore her, try to hide his raw vulnerability, until, after a moment's stilled breath, his furs were pushed aside and she was invited in.

"I thought I'd lost you,"

she whispered through the choking lump in her own throat. Then gently, afraid that she might hurt him, she settled down beside him burrowing her head into the crook of his neck all the more to breathe in the essence of him while her hands settled on his chest feeling the pounding beat of his heart.

"I...I thought...I..." He inhaled deeply as if struggling to breathe then continued, "I thought I'd never see you again."

Still he remained rigid until her hands framed his face and she whispered,

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

And as her soft breath caressed his skin he felt something swell within him and as if she'd given him permission to let his guard down, he crumpled in her arms, his body wracked by shudders, and wept a river of anguished, silent tears as she held him, whispering compelling words that conveyed all that she needed to say and all he needed to hear.

--

It was in the early hours of dawn that they had chosen to depart and so it was that Teomyn was crying loudly, fat crystal tears falling in relays down her heartbroken cheeks as Jack made his farewells. She had refused to accept his hugs and had closed her ears with the flat of her hands to show what she thought of his actions, but finally, realizing that his leaving could not be prevented, she threw herself against him, wrapping her arms tightly round his neck and sobbing out her heart and her love and in the end he had bestowed on her his two prized possessions which went a little way to appease her sorrow.

/You'll look after him, won't you, because he's told me he's going to look after you real well?/ he demanded, watching her replace him with Rat Face which she now hugged with equal intensity.

Thankfully the cur looked as if he were enjoying the attention. And as Jack turned to the group of riders awaiting his final farewells, he decided that his dog tags, clasped firmly in Teomyn's fat little fists, had been put to the best use possible under the circumstances.

He had already said his goodbyes to Swooping Eagle and the medicine man, but as he approached Little Step and Colored Sky he faltered in his stride.

But it seemed no words were needed, for the old woman stepped firmly forward placing her hand first over Jack's heart then putting the same hand to her own breast. Then reaching up she placed both hands on the side of Jack's face, searching earnestly. As if finding what she had sought, she nodded firmly and stepped away, entering her lodge without another backward glance.

Puzzled, Jack turned to Colored Sky for explanation.

The younger woman explained in a soft voice,

/Your heart, her heart, they are one. Wherever you go, she goes too, and wherever she stays, you stay with her too. This is how it should be. There is no sadness in her heart. Why should there be when you are each with the other?/

Jack stared deep into her bottomless eyes, seeing more than he'd ever ventured to see before. Did she, he briefly wondered, really speak for Little Step or was she speaking of herself? But even as he thought this his mind veered away and he buried the idea immediately. He was going home.

He turned to look towards his team for the reassurance that they were still there and to steel his resolve to go with them. But still, he hesitated in joining them and turned back to Colored Sky. He asked the question that long had been on his mind.

/Why was I brought here?/

For a moment, a soft sigh of regret whispered through her lips then, just as softly, Colored Sky continued,

/When the land was new and the sky freshly born, it was spoken that one would come from lands far beyond the distance of our domain, marked with a lash and with hair the color of the mountains. He would be a warrior above all warriors and would save the tribe from its enemies. Because of him our people would thrive and travel the lands of our forefathers, blessed among all./

Jack was shaking his head as she explained, unable to comprehend the depth of her words, unable to accept what she stated.

/Why do you think Little Step does not weep? Because she knew of this story when she was a child of Teomyn's age. She did not know she would be blessed until the marks were revealed, and even then she doubted the signs until.../

Her words trailed away; she had no need to say more.

/The time has come for you to return to your people as it was foretold, so we do not grieve for the loss of one of our sons./

Staring up at him, her dark eyes twinkling with a radiant light, she added,

/Perhaps one day he will return again when the times are as now, and we will await this time and welcome him with open arms./

He wondered how he could long for something with such raw intensity and at the same time regret it was happening?

/Little Step... you'll look out for her?/

/Be assured./

/She's kind of grumpy in the mornings and needs a hot herbal drink. It helps with her aching bones. Yea, and she also likes--./

A gentle finger placed on his lips silenced him and she conveyed a look which told him what he needed to know.

Nodding his acceptance and holding her close to his heart one last time, he breathed in that special fragrance and promised himself that he'd keep this woman in his heart no matter what. He turned to his painted pony and accepted the leg up one of the guides offered. No way was he going to allow his pride to set back his return. And turning his pony around, he gazed over the village that had been his home these past months, seeing it with very different eyes from that time when he'd first been brought here.

Raising his hand as if in benediction, he turned his mount and followed the others as they waded across the river, and as he followed the tortuous route up the mountain he looked back many times watching as people, lodges and river began to grow smaller and smaller.

He shivered when they entered the beginning of the tunnels, but Carter was ready and, dismounting she rummaged around in her pack and approached him with a soft blanket of skins. His head tilted to the side as he watched her and she smiled shyly.

"Your step mom knew you'd be cold."

And reaching up she settled it over his shoulders, allowing her hand to rest on his thigh a moment longer than necessary, just happy to be able to have the contact.

She was back on her pony when the lead rider set off again.

--

They had halted at the base of the mountain to rest the ponies and take a short break and that is when the three members of SG-1 finally knew they had their own Jack O'Neill back.

"No way, and that's final!"

"Sir, Little Step made us promise."

"Tough - she didn't make me."

Daniel, his eyes rolling, spluttered, "Yeah, and we know why."

"It's not gonna happen, so I'd suggest we stop providing this small form of entertainment for the audience and move on."

No one, however, stirred which set Jack's teeth on edge. He glared at his team hardly believing that in the short time they'd been reunited he was having this confrontation with them.

"And in case anyone misunderstood, that was an order from your commanding officer!"

His sharp bark was obviously causing consternation among his Indian guides, but as yet they appeared satisfied merely to watch what was obviously some form of disagreement.

Teal'c moved closer to Jack.

"This solemn promise was also exacted of me, O'Neill."

Jack watched with growing alarm as the Jaffa passed his weapon to Daniel, who was observing him with a 'you're-going- to-get-it-now' smug expression, and before he could voice any protest other than a startled yell of displeasure, he found himself lifted from the back of his mount, placed on the travois and wrapped in the bundle of furs that Little Step had sent for just such a job.

"You are weary. It is clear your wounds are still a discomfort. You will rest."

Jack glowered, yet knew it was next to hopeless to attempt to move unless he was prepared to have the ire of the Jaffa descend on him in a manner he knew would not do his 'I'm the leader here' status much good.

Seeing Daniel grinning at him, he snapped, "And what do you find so funny?"

"I'm happy, Jack. We've got you back and you're just the way I remember - ornery, cantankerous and a general pain in the ass and I've never been so glad to hear you whine."

Tilting his head to the side, Jack was just about to retort that he never, ever whined when he realized that all three of his team colleagues were grinning - well Teal'c was almost there - in the same idiotic manner and he had to wonder what the hell Little Step had put into the gruel they'd eaten.

And then he saw them as they really were, still dog-tired with dark circles under their eyes, skin pale and sallow, their uniforms hanging looser than he remembered on their frames, but offset by a burning joy that almost radiated off their inner beings as their eyes rested on him.

And as he began to understand just a little of what they had been through in reaching this point, his loss of pride seemed of no importance when set against the value of his team being here with him now.

Sighing, he permitted himself the luxury of relaxing. Little Step had made the travois with extra care to ensure that Jack's journey would be in the greatest of comfort. It was yet another show of her love for him, so he accepted that he could put up with the embarrassment. As long as he could walk back through the Stargate he could put up with this a little longer. And putting his hands behind his head, he stretched out and grinned.

"You know guys, I could get used to this."

--

In Little Step's lodge the old woman sat holding a warm herbal drink, content among her furs as she listened to Colored Sky chant a favorite song which foretold the coming of a great warrior who would lead the tribe to future glory and as the young woman crooned the haunting song, her hand strayed to her stomach where she knew a new life stirred within.

THE END


End file.
